It* 


The 
RESTLESS  SEX 


She  nodded  listlessly,  kneeling  beside  his  chair. 

[PAGE  135] 


The 
Restless  Sex 

By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


AUTHOR  OF 

'Barbarians,"     "The  Dark  Star,"     "The  Girl  Philippa," 
*'Who  Goes  There,"  Etc. 


With  Frontispiece 
By  W.  D.  STEVENS 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with   D.   APPLETON   &   COMPANY 


COPTEIGHT,   1918,  BT 

ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 

JOPTBIGHT,  1917,  1918,  BT  THE  INTERNATIONAL  MAGAZINE  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


URL 
SRLF 


To 
MILDRED   SISSON 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


PREFACE 

CREATED  complete,  equipped  for  sporadic  mul- 
tiplication and  later  for  auto-fertilization,  the 
restless  sex,  intensely  bored  by  the  process  of 
procreation,    presently    invented     an    auxiliary     and 
labeled  him  $ . 

A  fool  proceeding,  for  the  inherited  mania  for  inven- 
tion obsessed  him  and  he  began  to  invent  gods.  The 
only  kind  of  gods  that  his  imagination  could  conceive 
were  various  varieties  of  supermen,  stronger,  more 
cruel,  craftier  than  he.  And  with  these  he  continued 
to  derive  satisfaction  by  scaring  himself. 

But  the  restless  sex  remained  restless;  the  inven- 
tion of  the  sign  of  Mars  (  $  ) ,  far  from  bringing  con- 
tent, merely  increased  the  capacity  of  the  sex  for  fidget- 
ing. And  its  insatiate  curiosity  concerning  its  own 
handiwork  increased. 

This  handiwork,  however,  fulfilled  rather  casually  the 
purpose  of  its  inventor,  and  devoted  the  most  of  its 
time  to  the  invention  of  gods,  endowing  the  most  power- 
ful of  them  with  all  its  own  cowardice,  vanity,  intol- 
erance and  ferocity. 

"He  made  us,"  they  explained  with  a  modesty  attrib- 
utable only  to  forgetfulness. 

"Believe  in  him  or  he'll  damn  you.  And  if  he  doesn't, 
we  will !"  they  shouted  to  one  another.  And  appointed 

1 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


representatives  of  various  denominations  to  deal  ex- 
clusively in  damnation. 

Cede  Deo !  And  so,  in  conformity  with  the  edict  of 
this  man-created  creator,  about  a  decade  before  the 
Great  Administration  began,  a  little  girl  was  born. 

She  should  not  have  been  born,  because  she  was  not 
wanted,  being  merely  the  by-product  of  an  itinerant 
actor — Harry  Quest,  juveniles — stimulated  to  casual 
procreation  by  idleness,  whiskey,  and  phthisis. 

The  other  partner  in  this  shiftless  affair  was  an 
uneducated  and  very  young  girl  named  Conway,  who 
tinted  photographs  for  a  Utica  photographer  while 
daylight  lasted,  and  doubled  her  small  salary  by  doing 
fancy  skating  at  a  local  "Ice  Palace"  in  the  evenings. 

So  it  is  very  plain  that  the  by-product  of  this  part- 
nership hadn't  much  chance  in  the  world  which  awaited 
her;  for,  being  neither  expected  nor  desired,  and,  more- 
over, being  already  a  prenatal  heiress  to  obscure,  un- 
known traits  scarcely  as  yet  even  developed  in  the  paJr 
responsible  for  her  advent  on  earth,  what  she  might 
turn  into  must  remain  a  problem  to  be  solved  by  time 
alone. 

Harry  Quest,  the  father  of  this  unborn  baby,  was 
an  actor.  Without  marked  talent  and  totally  without 
morals,  but  well  educated  and  of  agreeable  manners,- 
he  was  a  natural  born  swindler,  not  only  of  others  but 
of  himself.  In  other  words,  an  optimist. 

His  father,  the  Reverend  Anthony  Quest,  retired,  was 
celebrated  for  his  wealth,  his  library,  and  his  amazing 
and  heartless  parsimony.  And  his  morals.  No  wonder 
he  had  grimly  kicked  out  his  only  son  who  had  none. 

The  parents  of  the  mother  of  this  little  child  not 
yet  born,  lived  in  Utica,  over  a  stationery  and  toy 
shop  which  they  kept.  Patrick  Conway  was  the  man's 

2 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


name.  He  had  a  pension  for  being  injured  on  the 
railway,  and  sat  in  a  peculiarly  constructed  wheeled 
chair,  moving  himself  about  by  pushing  the  rubber- 
tired  wheels  with  both  hands  and  steering  with  his 
remaining  foot. 

He  had  married  a  woman  rather  older  than  himself, 
named  Jessie  Grismer,  a  school  teacher  living  in 
Herkimer. 

To  Utica  drifted  young  Quest,  equipped  only  with 
the  remains  of  one  lung,  and  out  of  a  job  as  usual.  At 
the  local  rink  he  picked  up  Laura  Conway,  after  a 
mindless  flirtation,  and  ultimately  went  to  board  with 
her  family  over  the  stationery  shop. 

So  the  affair  in  question  was  a  case  of  propinquity 
as  much  as  anything,  and  was  consummated  with  all 
the  detached  irresponsibility  of  two  sparrows. 

However,  Quest,  willing  now  to  be  supported,  mar- 
ried the  girl  without  protest.  She  continued  to  tint 
photographs  and  skate  as  long  as  she  was  able  to  be 
about;  he  loafed  in  front  of  theatres  and  hotels,  with 
a  quarter  in  change  in  his  pockets,  but  always  came 
back  to  meals.  On  sunny  afternoons,  when  he  felt  well, 
he  strolled  about  the  residence  section  or  reposed  in 
his  room  waiting,  probably,  for  Opportunity  to  knock 
and  enter. 

But  nothing  came  except  the  baby. 

About  that  time,  too,  both  lungs  being  in  bad  con- 
dition, young  Quest  began  those  various  and  exhaustive 
experiments  in  narcotics,  which  sooner  or  later  interest 
such  men.  And  he  finally  discovered  heroin.  Finding 
it  an  agreeable  road  to  hell,  the  symptomatic  charac- 
teristics of  an  addict  presently  began  to  develop  in  him, 
and  he  induced  his  young  wife  to  share  the  pleasures  of 
his  pharmaceutical  discovery. 

3 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


They  and  their  baby  continued  to  encumber  the 
apartment  for  a  year  or  two  before  the  old  people 
died — of  weariness  perhaps,  perhaps  of  old  age — or 
grief — or  some  similar  disease  so  fatal  to  the  aged. 

Anyway,  they  died,  and  there  remained  nothing  in 
the  estate  not  subject  to  creditors.  And,  as  tinted 
photographs  had  gone  out  of  fashion  even  in  Utica,  and 
as  the  advent  of  moving  pictures  was  beginning  to  kill 
vaudeville  everywhere  except  in  New  York,  the  ever- 
provincial,  thither  the  Quest  family  drifted.  And 
there,  through  the  next  few  years,  they  sifted  down- 
ward through  stratum  after  stratum  of  the  metropoli- 
tan purlieus,  always  toward  some  darker  substratum — 
always  a  little  lower. 

The  childishly  attractive  mother,  in  blue  velvet  and 
white  cat's  fur,  still  did  fancy  skating  at  rink  and 
Hippodrome.  The  father  sometimes  sat  dazed  and 
coughing  in  the  chilly  waiting  rooms  of  theatrical  agen- 
cies. Fortified  by  drugs  and  by  a  shabby  fur  over- 
coat, he  sometimes  managed  to  make  the  rounds  in 
pleasant  weather;  and  continued  to  die  rather  slowly, 
considering  his  physical  condition. 

But  his  father,  who  had  so  long  ago  disowned  him — 
the  Reverend  Anthony  Quest — being  in  perfect  moral 
condition,  caught  a  slight  cold  in  his  large,  warm 
library,  and  died  of  pneumonia  in  forty-eight  hours — a 
frightful  example  of  earthly  injustice,  doubtless  made 
all  right  in  Heaven. 

Young  Quest,  forbidden  the  presence  for  years,  came 
skulking  around  after  a  while  with  a  Jew  lawyer,  only 
to  find  that  his  one  living  relative,  a  predatory  aunt, 
had  assimilated  everything  and  was  perfectly  qualified 
to  keep  it  under  the  terms  of  his  father's  will. 

Her  attorneys  made  short  work  of  the  shyster.     She 

4 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


herself,  many  times  a  victim  to  her  nephew's  deceit  in 
former  years,  and  once  having  stood  between  him  and 
prison  concerning  the  matter  of  a  signature  for  thou- 
sands of  dollars — the  said  signature  not  being  hers  but 
by  her  recognised  for  the  miserable  young  man's  sake — 
this  formidable  and  acidulous  old  lady  wrote  to  her 
nephew  in  reply  to  a  letter  of  his : 

You  always  were  a  liar.  I  do  not  believe  you  are  mar- 
ried. I  do  not  believe  you  have  a  baby.  I  send  you — not  a 
cheque,  because  you'd  probably  raise  it — but  enough  money 
to  start  you  properly. 

Keep  away  from  me.  You  are  what  you  are  partly 
through  your  father's  failure  to  do  his  duty  by  you.  An 
optimist  taken  at  birth  and  patiently  trained  can  be  saved. 
Nobody  saved  you;  you  were  merely  punished.  And  you, 
naturally,  became  a  swindler. 

But  I  can't  help  that  now.  It's  too  late.  I  can  only  send 
you  money.  And  if  it's  true  you  have  a  child,  for  God's 
sake  take  her  in  time  or  she'll  turn  into  what  you  are. 

And  that  is  why  I  send  you  any  money  at  all — on  the  re- 
mote chance  that  you  are  not  lying.  Keep  away  from  me, 
Harry. 

ROSALINDA  QUEST. 

So  he  did  not  trouble  her,  he  knew  her  of  old;  and 
besides  he  was  too  ill,  too  dazed  with  drugs  to  bother 
with  such  things. 

He  lost  every  penny  of  the  money  in  Quint's  gam- 
bling house  within  a  month. 

So  the  Quest  family,  father,  mother  and  little 
daughter  sifted  through  the  wide,  coarse  meshes  of  the 
very  last  social  stratum  that  same  winter,  and  landed 
on  the  ultimate  mundane  dump  heap. 

Quest  now  lay  all  day  across  a  broken  iron  bed, 
sometimes  stupefied,  sometimes  violent;  his  wife,  dis- 

5 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


missed  from  the  Hippodrome  for  flagrant  cause,  now 
picked  up  an  intermittent  living  and  other  things  in  an 
east-side  rink.  The  child  still  remained  about,  some- 
where, anywhere — a  dirty,  ragged,  bruised,  furtive  little 
thing,  long  accustomed  to  extremes  of  maudlin  demon- 
stration and  drug-crazed  cruelty,  frightened  witness  of 
dreadful  altercations  and  of  more  dreadful  reconcilia- 
tions, yet  still  more  stunned  than  awakened,  more  unde- 
veloped than  precocious,  as  though  the  steady  accumu- 
lation of  domestic  horrors  had  checked  mental  growth 
rather  than  sharpened  her  wits  with  cynicism  and 
undesirable  knowledge. 

Not  yet  had  her  environment  distorted  and  tainted 
her  speech,  for  her  father  had  been  an  educated  man, 
and  what  was  left  of  him  still  employed  grammatical 
English,  often  correcting  the  nasal,  up-state  vocabulary 
of  the  mother — the  beginning  of  many  a  terrible 
quarrel. 

So  the  child  skulked  about,  alternately  ignored  or 
whined  over,  cursed  or  caressed,  petted  or  beaten, 
sometimes  into  insensibility. 

Otherwise  she  followed  them  about  instinctively,  like 
a  crippled  kitten. 

Then  there  came  one  stifling  night  in  that  earthly 
hell  called  a  New  York  tenement,  when  little  Stephanie 
Quest,  tortured  by  prickly  heat,  gasping  for  the  relief 
which  the  western  lightning  promised,  crept  out  to  the 
fire  escape  and  lay  there  gasping  like  a  minnow. 

Fate,  lurking  in  the  reeking  room  behind  her,  where 
her  drugged  parents  lay  in  merciful  stupor,  unloosed  a 
sudden  breeze  from  the  thunderous  west,  which  blew  the 
door  shut  with  a  crash.  It  did  not  awaken  the  man. 
But,  among  other  things,  it  did  jar  loose  a  worn-out 
gas  jet.  .  .  .  That  was  the  verdict,  anyway. 

6 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Pluris  est  oculatus  testis  unus  quam  auriti  decem. 

But,  as  always,  the  Most  High  remained  silent,  offer- 
ing no  testimony  to  the  contrary. 

This  episode  in  the  career  of  Stephanie  Quest  hap- 
pened in  the  days  of  the  Great  Administration,  an 
administration  not  great  in  the  sense  of  material  na- 
tional prosperity,  great  only  in  spirit  and  in  things  of 
the  mind  and  soul. 

Even  the  carpenter,  Albrecht  Schmidt,  across  the 
hallway  in  the  tenement,  rose  to  the  level  of  some  unex- 
plored spiritual  stratum,  for  he  had  a  wife  and  five 
children  and  only  his  wages,  and  he  did  not  work  every 
week. 

"Nein,"  he  said,  when  approached  for  contributions 
toward  the  funeral,  "I  haff  no  money  for  dead  people. 
I  don't  giff,  I  don't  lend.  Vat  it  iss  dot  Shakespeare 
says?  Don't  neffer  borrow  und  don't  neffer  lend  nod- 
dings.  .  .  .  But  I  tell  you  what  I  do !  I  take  dot  leedle 
child !" 

The  slim,  emaciated  child,  frightened  white,  had 
flattened  herself  against  the  dirty  wall  of  the  hallway 
to  let  the  policemen  and  ambulance  surgeon  pass. 

The  trampling,  staring  inmates  of  the  tenement 
crowded  the  stairs,  a  stench  of  cabbage  and  of  gas 
possessed  the  place. 

The  carpenter's  wife,  a  string  around  her  shapeless 
middle,  and  looking  as  though  she  might  add  to  her 
progeny  at  any  minute,  came  to  the  door  of  her  two- 
room  kennel. 

''Poor  little  Stephanie,"  she  said,  "you  come  right  in 
and  make  you'self  at  home  along  of  us !" 

And,  as  the  child  did  not  stir,  seemingly  frozen  there 
against  the  stained  and  battered  wall,  the  carpenter 
said: 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Du!  Stephanie!  Hey  you,  Steve!  Come  home 
und  get  you  some  breakfast  right  away  quick!" 

"Is  that  their  kid?"  inquired  a  policeman  coming  out 
of  the  place  of  death  and  wiping  the  sweat  from  his 
face. 

"Sure.    I  take  her  in." 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  fix  that  matter  later " 

"I  fix  it  now.    I  take  dot  little  Steve  for  mine " 

The  policeman  yawned  over  the  note  book  in  which 
he  was  writing. 

"It  ain't  done  that  way,  I'm  tellin'  you!  Well,  all 
right!  You  can  keep  her  until  the  thing  is  fixed 
up "  He  went  on  writing. 

The  carpenter  strode  over  to  the  child;  his  blond 
hair  bristled,  his  beard  was  fearsome  and  like  an  ogre's. 
But  his  voice  trembled  with  Teuton  sentiment. 

"You  got  a  new  mamma,  Steve !"  he  rumbled.  "Now, 
you  run  in  und  cry  mit  her  so  much  as  you  like."  He 
pulled  the  little  girl  gently  toward  his  rooms;  the 
morbid  crowd  murmured  on  the  stairs  at  the  sight  of  the 
child  of  suicides. 

"Mamma,  here  iss  our  little  Steve  alretty!"  growled 
Schmidt.  "Now,  py  Gott !  I  got  to  go  to  my  job !  A 
hellofa  business  iss  it !  Schade — immer — schade !  An- 
other mouth  to  feed,  py  Gott !" 


FOREWORD 

ON  the  Christmas-tide  train  which  carried  home- 
ward those  Saint  James  schoolboys  who  re- 
sided in  or  near  New  York,  Cleland  Junior  sat 
chattering  with  his  comrades  in  a  drawing-room  car 
entirely  devoted  to  the  Saint  James  boys,  and  resound- 
ing with  the  racket  of  their  interminable  gossip  and 
laughter. 

The  last  number  of  their  school  paper  had  come  out 
on  the  morning  of  their  departure  for  Christmas  holi- 
days at  home;  every  boy  had  a  copy  and  was  trying 
to  read  it  aloud  to  his  neighbour;  shrieks  of  mirth  re- 
sounded, high,  shrill  arguments,  hot  disputes,  shouts 
of  approval  or  of  protest. 

"Read  this!  Say,  did  you  get  this!"  cried  a  tall 
toy  named  Grismer.  "Jim  Cleland  wrote  it !  What  do 
you  know  about  our  own  p6t  novelist " 

"Shut  up!"  retorted  Cleland  Junior,  blushing  and 
abashed  by  accusation  of  authorship. 

"He  wrote  it  all  right!"  repeated  Grismer  exult- 
antly. "Oh,  girls !  Just  listen  to  this  mush  about  the 
birds  and  the  bees  and  the  bright  blue  sky " 

"Jim,  you're  all  right!  That's  the  stuff!"  shouted 
another.  "The  girl  in  the  story's  a  peach,  and  the 
battle  scene  is  great!" 

"Say,  Jim,  where  do  you  get  your  battle  stuff?"  in- 
quired another  lad  respectfully. 

"Out   of   the   papers,    of    course,"    replied    Cleland 

9 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Junior.     "All  you  have  to  do  is  to  read  'em,  and  you 
can  think  out  the  way  it  really  looks." 

The  only  master  in  the  car,  a  young  Harvard  grad- 
uate, got  up  from  his  revolving  chair  and  came  over 
to  Cleland  Junior. 

The  boy  rose  immediately,  standing  slender  and  hand- 
some in  the  dark  suit  of  mourning  which  he  still  wore 
after  two  years. 

"Sit  down,  Jim,"  said  Grayson,  the  master,  seating 
himself  on  the  arm  of  the  boy's  chair.  And,  as  the  boy 
diffidently  resumed  his  seat :  "Nice  little  story  of  yours, 
this.  Just  finished  it.  Do  you  still  think  of  making 
writing  your  profession?" 

"I'd  like  to,  sir." 

"Many  are  called,  you  know,"  remarked  the  master 
with  a  smile. 

"I  know,  sir.     I  shall  have  to  take  my  chance." 

Phil  Grayson,  baseball  idol  of  the  Saint  James  boys, 
and  himself  guilty  of  several  delicate  verses  in  the  Cen- 
tury and  Scribner's,  sat  on  the  padded  arm  of  the  re- 
volving chair  and  touched  his  slight  moustache  thought- 
fully. 

"One's  profession,  Jim,  ought  to  be  one's  ruling  pas- 
sion. To  choose  a  profession,  choose  what  you  most 
care  to  do  in  your  leisure  moments.  That  should  be 
your  business  in  life." 

The  boy  said : 

"I  like  about  everything,  Mr.  Grayson,  but  I  think 
I  had  rather  write  than  anything  else." 

John  Belter,  a  rotund  youth,  listening  and  drawing 
caricatures  on  the  back  of  the  school  paper,  suggested 
that  perhaps  Cleland  Junior  was  destined  to  write  the 
Great  American  Novel. 

Grayson  said  pleasantly : 

10 


"It  was  the  great  American  ass  who  first  made  in- 
quiries concerning  the  Great  American  Novel." 

"Oh,  what  a  knock!"  shouted  Oswald  Grismer,  de- 
lighted. 

But  young  Belter  joined  in  the  roars  of  laughter, 
undisturbed,  saying  very  coolly : 

"Do  you  mean,  sir,  that  the  Great  American  Novel 
will  never  be  written,  or  that  it  has  already  been  written 
several  times,  or  that  there  isn't  any  such  thing?" 

"I  mean  all  three,  Jack,"  explained  Grayson,  smiling. 
"Let  me  see  that  caricature  you  have  been  so  busy 


over. 

« 


It's — it's  you,  sir." 

"What  of  it?"  retorted  the  young  master.  "Do 
you  think  I  can't  laugh  at  myself?" 

He  took  the  paper  so  reluctantly  tendered: 

"Jack,  you  are  a  terror !  You  young  rascal,  you've 
made  me  look  like  a  wax-faced  clothing  dummy !" 

"Tribute  to  your  faultless  apparel,  sir,  and  equally 
faultless  features " 

A  shriek  of  laughter  from  the  boys  who  had  crowded 
around  to  see;  Grayson  himself  laughing  unfeignedly 
and  long;  then  the  babel  of  eager,  boyish  voices  again, 
loud,  emphatic,  merciless  in  discussion  of  the  theme  of 
the  moment. 

Into  the  swaying  car  and  down  the  aisle  came  a 
negro  in  spotless  white,  repeating  invitingly : 

"First  call  for  luncheon,  gentlemen!  Luncheon 
served  in  the  dining  car  forward !" 

His  agreeable  voice  was  drowned  in  the  cheering  of 
three  dozen  famished  boys,  stampeding. 

Cleland  Junior  came  last  with  the  master. 

"I  hope  you'll  have  a  happy  holiday,  Jim,"  said 
Grayson,  with  quiet  cordiality. 

11 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"I'm  crazy  to  see  father,"  said  the  boy.  "I'm  sure 
I'll  have  a  good  time." 

At  the  vestibule  he  stepped  aside,  but  the  master  bade 
him  precede  him. 

And  as  the  fair,  slender  boy  passed  out  into  the 
forward  car,  the  breeze  ruffling  his  blond  hair,  and  his 
brown  eyes  still  smiling  with  the  anticipation  of  home 
coming,  he  passed  Fate,  Chance,  and  Destiny,  whisper- 
ing together  in  the  corner  of  the  platform.  But  the 
boy  could  not  see  them;  could  not  know  that  they 
were  discussing  him. 


CHAPTER  I 

AN  average  New  York  house  on  a  side  street  in 
winter  is  a  dark  affair;  daylight  comes  reluc- 
tantly and  late  into  the  city;  the  south  side 
of  a  street  catches  the  first  winter  sun  rays  when 
there  are  any;  the  north  side  remains  shadowy  and 
chilly. 

Cleland  Senior's  old-fashioned  house  stood  on  the 
north  side  of  80th  Street;  and  on  the  last  morning  of 
Cleland  Junior's  Christmas  vacation,  while  the  first  bars 
of  sunshine  fell  across  the  brown  stone  fa9ades  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street,  the  Clelands'  breakfast  room 
still  remained  dim,  bathed  in  the  silvery  gray  dusk  of 
morning. 

Father  and  son  had  finished  breakfast,  but  Cleland 
Senior,  whose  other  names  were  John  and  William,  had 
not  yet  lighted  the  cigar  which  he  held  between  thumb 
and  forefinger  and  contemplated  in  portentous  silence. 
Nor  had  he  opened  the  morning  paper  to  read  para- 
graphs of  interest  to  Cleland  Junior,  comment  upon 
them,  and  encourage  discussion,  as  was  his  wont  when 
his  son  happened  to  be  home  from  school. 

The  house  was  one  of  those  twenty-foot  brown  stone 
houses — architecturally  featureless — which  was  all 
there  was  to  New  York  architecture  fifty  years  ago. 

But  John  William  Cleland's  dead  wife  had  managed 
to  make  a  gem  of  the  interior,  and  the  breakfast  room 
on  the  second  floor  front,  once  his  wife's  bedroom,  was 

13 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


charming  with  its  lovely  early  American  furniture  and 
silver,  and  its  mellow,  old-time  prints  in  colour. 

Cleland  Junior  continued  to  look  rather  soberly  at 
the  familiar  pictures,  now,  as  he  sat  in  silence  oppo- 
site his  father,  his  heart  of  a  boy  oppressed  by  the 
approaching  parting. 

"So  you  think  you'll  make  writing  a  profession, 
Jim?"  repeated  John  Cleland,  not  removing  his  eyes 
from  the  cigar  he  was  turning  over  and  over. 

"Yes,  father." 

"All  right.  Then  a  general  education  is  the  thing, 
and  Harvard  the  place — unless  you  prefer  another 
university." 

"The  fellows  are  going  to  Harvard — most  of  them," 
said  the  boy. 

"A  boy  usually  desires  to  go  where  his  school  friends 
go.  .  .  .  It's  all  right,  Jim." 

Cleland  Junior's  fresh,  smooth  face  of  a  school  boy 
had  been  slowly  growing  more  and  more  solemn.  Some- 
times he  looked  at  the  prints  on  the  wall ;  sometimes  he 
glanced  across  the  table  at  his  father,  who  still  sat  ab- 
sently turning  over  and  over  the  unlighted  cigar  be- 
tween his  fingers.  The  approaching  separation  was 
weighing  on  them  both.  That,  and  the  empty  third 
chair  by  the  bay  window,  inclined  them  to  caution  in 
speech,  lest  memory  strike  them  suddenly,  deep  and 
unawares,  and  their  voices  betray  their  men's  hearts 
to  each  other — which  is  not  an  inclination  between 
men. 

Cleland  Senior  glanced  involuntarily  from  the  empty 
chair  to  the  table,  where,  as  always,  a  third  place  had 
been  laid  by  Meachem,  and,  as  always,  a  fresh  flower 
lay  beside  the  service  plate. 

No  matter  what  the  occasion,  under  all  circumstances 

14 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


and  invariably  Meachem  laid  a  fresh  blossom  of  some 
sort  beside  the  place  which  nobody  used. 

Cleland  Senior  gazed  at  the  frail  cluster  of  frisia  in 
silence. 

Through  the  second  floor  hallway  landing,  in  the 
library  beyond,  the  boy  could  see  his  suitcase,  and, 
lying  against  it,  his  hockey  stick.  Cleland  Senior's 
preoccupied  glance  also,  at  intervals,  reverted  to  these 
two  significant  objects.  Presently  he  got  up  and 
walked  out  into  the  little  library,  followed  in  silence  by 
Cleland  Junior. 

There  was  a  very  tall  clock  in  that  room,  which  had 
been  made  by  one  of  the  Willards  many  years  before 
the  elder  Cleland's  birth;  but  it  ticked  now  as  aggres- 
sively and  bumptiously  as  though  it  were  brand  new. 

The  father  wandered  about  for  a  while,  perhaps  with 
the  vague  idea  of  finding  a  match  tor  his  cigar;  the 
son's  clear  gaze  followed  his  father's  restless  movements 
until  the  clock  struck  the  half  hour. 

"Father?" 

"Yes,  dear — yes,  old  chap?" — with  forced  careless- 
ness which  deceived  neither. 

"It's  half  past  nine." 

"All  right,  Jim — any  time  you're  ready." 

"I  hate  to  go  "back  and  leave  you  all  alone  here!" 
broke  out  the  boy  impulsively. 

It  was  a  moment  of  painful  tension. 

Cleland  Senior  did  not  reply ;  and  the  boy,  conscious 
of  the  emotion  which  his  voice  had  betrayed,  and  sud- 
denly shy  about  it,  turned  his  head  and  gazed  out  into 
the  back  yard. 

Father  and  son  still  wore  mourning;  the  black  gar- 
ments made  the  boy's  hair  and  skin  seem  fairer  than 
they  really  were — as  fair  as  his  dead  mother's. 

15 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


When  Cleland  Senior  concluded  that  he  was  able  to 
speak  in  a  perfectly  casual  and  steady  voice,  he  said: 

"Have  you  had  a  pretty  good  holiday,  Jim?" 

"Fine,  father!" 

"That's  good.  That's  as  it  should  be.  We've  en- 
joyed a  pretty  good  time  together,  my  son;  haven't 
we?" 

"Great!    It  was  a  dandy  vacation!" 

There  came  another  silence.  On  the  boy's  face 
lingered  a  slight  retrospective  smile,  as  he  mentally 
reviewed  the  two  weeks  now  ending  with  the  impending 
departure  for  school.  Certainly  he  had  had  a  splendid 
time.  His  father  had  engineered  all  sorts  of  parties 
and  amusements  for  him — schoolboy  gatherings  at  the 
Ice  Rink ;  luncheons  and  little  dances  in  their  own  home, 
to  which  school  comrades  and  children  of  old  friends 
were  bidden;  trips  to  the  Bronx,  to  the  Aquarium,  to 
the  Natural  History  Museum;  wonderful  evenings  at 
home  together. 

The  boy  had  gone  with  his  father  to  see  the  "Wizard 
of  Oz,"  to  see  Nazimova  in  "The  Comet" — a  doubtful 
experiment,  but  in  line  with  theories  of  Cleland  Senior 
—to  see  "The  Fall  of  Port  Arthur"  at  the  Hippo- 
drome ;  to  hear  Calve  at  the  Opera. 

Together  they  had  strolled  on  Fifth  Avenue,  viewed 
the  progress  of  the  new  marble  tower  then  being  built 
on  Madison  Square,  had  lunched  together  at  Delmon- 
ico's,  dined  at  Sherry's,  motored  through  all  the  parks, 
visited  Governor's  Island  and  the  Navy  Yard — the  lat- 
ter rendezvous  somewhat  empty  of  interest  since  the 
great  battle  fleet  had  started  on  its  pacific  voyage 
around  the  globe. 

Always  they  had  been  together  since  the  boy  re- 
turned from  Saint  James  school  for  the  Christmas 

16 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


holidays ;  and  Cleland  Senior  had  striven  to  fill  every 
waking  hour  of  his  son's  day  with  something  pleasant 
to  be  remembered. 

Always  at  breakfast  he  had  read  aloud  the  items  of 
interest — news  concerning  President  Roosevelt — the 
boy's  hero — and  his  administration ;  Governor  Hughes 
and  his  administration;  the  cumberous  coming  of  Mr. 
Taft  from  distant  climes ;  local  squabbles  concerning 
projected  subways.  All  that  an  intelligent  and  grow- 
ing boy  ought  to  know  and  begin  to  think  about,  Cleland 
Senior  read  aloud  at  the  breakfast  table — for  this  rea- 
son, and  also  to  fill  in  every  minute  with  pleasant  inter- 
est lest  the  dear  grief,  now  two  years  old,  and  yet 
forever  fresh,  creep  in  between  words  and  threaten  the 
silences  between  them  with  sudden  tears. 

But  two  years  is  a  long,  long  time  in  the  life  of  the 
young — in  the  life  of  a  fourteen-year-old  boy ;  and  yet, 
the  delicate  shadow  of  his  mother  still  often  dimmed 
for  him  the  sunny  sparkle  of  the  winter's  holiday.  It 
felji  across  his  clear  young  eyes  now,  where  he  sat  think- 
ing, and  made  them  sombre  and  a  deeper  brown. 

For  he  was  going  back  to  boarding  school ;  and  old 
memories  were  uneasily  astir  again ;  and  Cleland  Senior 
saw  the  shadow  on  the  boy's  face;  understood;  but 
now  chose  to  remain  silent,  not  intervening. 

So  memory  gently  enveloped  them  both,  leaving  them 
eery  still  together,  there  in  the  library. 

For  the  boy's  mother  had  been  so  intimately  asso- 
ciated with  preparations  for  returning  to  school  in 
those  blessed  days  which  already  had  begun  to  seem 
distant  and  a  little  unreal  to  Cleland  Junior — so  ten- 
derly and  vitally  a  part  of  them — that  now,  when  the 
old  pain,  the  loneliness,  the  eternal  desire  for  her  was 
again  possessing  father  and  son  in  the  imminence  of 

17 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


familiar  departure,  Cleland  Senior  let  it  come  to  the 
boy,  not  caring  to  avert  it. 

Thinking  of  the  same  thing,  both  sat  gazing  into  the 
back  yard.  There  was  a  cat  on  the  whitewashed  fence. 
Lizzie,  the  laundress — probably  the  last  of  the  race  of 
old-time  family  laundresses — stood  bare-armed  in  the 
cold,  pinning  damp  clothing  to  the  lines,  her  Irish 
mouth  full  of  wooden  clothes-pins,  her  parboiled  arms 
steaming. 

At  length  Cleland  Senior's  glance  fell  again  upon 
the  tall  clock.  He  swallowed  nothing,  stared  grimly 
at  the  painted  dial  where  a  ship  circumnavigated  the 
sun,  then  squaring  his  big  shoulders  he  rose  with 
decision. 

The  boy  got  up  too. 

In  the  front  hall  they  assisted  each  other  with  over- 
coats ;  the  little,  withered  butler  took  the  boy's  luggage 
down  the  brown-stone  steps  to  the  car.  A  moment  later 
father  and  son  were  spinning  along  Fifth  Avenue 
toward  Forty-second  Street. 

As  usual,  this  ordeal  of  departure  forced  John 
Cleland  to  an  unnatural,  off-hand  gaiety  at  the  crisis, 
as  though  the  parting  amounted  to  nothing. 

"Going  to  be  a  good  kid  in  school,  Jim?"  he  asked, 
casually  humorous. 

The  boy  nodded  and  smiled. 

"That's  right.  And,  Jim,  stick  to  your  Algebra, 
no  matter  how  you  hate  it.  I  hated  it  too.  .  .  .  Go- 
ing to  get  on  your  class  hockey  team?" 

"I'll  do  my  best." 

"Right.     Try  for  the  ball  team,  too.     And,  Jim?" 

"Yes,  father?" 

"You're  all  right  so  far.  You  know  what's  good 
and  what's  bad." 

18 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Yes,  sir." 

"No  matter  what  happens,  you  can  always  come  to 
me. '  You  thoroughly  understand  that." 

"Yes,  father." 

"You've  never  known  what  it  is  to  be  afraid  of  me, 
have  you?" 

The  boy  smiled  broadly ;  said  no. 

"Never  be  afraid  of  me,  Jim.  That's  one  thing  I 
couldn't  stand.  I'm  always  here.  All  I'm  here  on  earth 
for  is  you!  Do  you  really  understand  me?" 

"Yes,  father." 

Red-capped  porter,  father  and  son  halted  near  the 
crowded  train  gate  inside  the  vast  railroad  station. 

Cleland  Senior  said  briskly: 

"Good-bye,  old  chap.  See  you  at  Easter.  Good 
luck!  Send  me  anything  you  write  in  the  way  of 
verses  and  stories." 

Their  clasped  hands  fell  apart ;  the  boy  went  through 
the  gate,  followed  by  his  porter  and  by  numerous  re- 
spectable and  negligible  travelling  citizens,  male  and 
female,  bound  for  destinations  doubtless  interesting  to 
them.  To  John  Cleland  they  were  merely  mechanically 
moving  impedimenta  which  obscured  the  retreating 
figure  of  his  only  son  and  irritated  him  to  that  extent. 
And  when  the  schoolboy  cap  of  that  only  son  disap- 
peared, engulfed  in  the  crowd,  John  Cleland  went  back 
to  his  car,  back  to  his  empty,  old-fashioned  brown- 
stone  house,  seated  himself  in  the  library  that  his  wife 
had  made  lovely,  and  picked  up  the  Times,  which  he  had 
not  read  aloud  at  breakfast. 

He  had  been  sitting  there  more  than  an  hour  before 
he  thought  of  reading  the  paper  so  rigidly  spread 
across  his  knees.  But  he  was  not  interested  in  what 
he  read.  The  battle  fleet,  it  seemed,  was  preparing  to 

19 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


sail  from  Port-of-Spain ;  Mr.  Taft  was  preparing  to 
launch  his  ponderous  candidacy  at  the  fat  head  of  the 
Republican  party ;  a  woman  had  been  murdered  in  the 
Newark  marshes ;  the  subway  muddle  threatened  to  be- 
come more  muddled;  somebody  desired  to  motor  from 
New  York  to  Paris ;  President  Roosevelt  and  Mr.  Cor- 
telyou  had  been  in  consultation  about  something  or 
other;  German  newspapers  accused  the  United  States 
of  wasting  its  natural  resources ;  Scotti  was  singing 
Scarpia  in  "Tosca";  a  new  music  hall  had  been  built 
in  the  Bronx 

Cleland  Senior  laid  the  paper  aside,  stared  at  the 
pale  winter  sunshine  on  the  back  fence  till  things  sud- 
denly blurred,  then  he  resumed  his  paper,  sharply,  and 
gazed  hard  at  the  print  until  his  dead  wife's  smiling 
eyes  faded  from  the  page. 

But  in  the  paper  there  seemed  nothing  to  hold  his 
attention.  He  turned  to  the  editorials,  then  to  the 
last  page.  This,  he  noticed,  was  still  entirely  devoted  to 
the  "Hundred  Neediest  Cases" — the  yearly  Christmas- 
tide  appeal  in  behalf  of  specific  examples  of  extreme 
distress.  The  United  Charities  Organization  of  the 
Metropolitan  district  always  made  this  appeal  every 
year. 

Now,  Cleland  Senior  had  already  sent  various  sums 
to  that  particular  charity ;  and  his  eyes  followed  rather 
listlessly  the  paragraphs  describing  certain  cases  which 
still  were  totally  unrelieved  or  only  partially  aided 
by  charitable  subscriptions.  He  read  on  as  a  man 
reads  whose  heart  is  still  sore  within  him — not 
without  a  certain  half  irritable  sense  of  sympathy,  per- 
haps, but  with  an  interest  still  dulled  by  the  oppres- 
sion which  separation  from  his  son  always  brought. 

And  still  his  preoccupied  mind  plodded  on  as  he 

20 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


glanced  over  the  several  paragraphs  of  appeal,  and 
after  a  while  he  yawned,  wondering  listlessly  that  such 
pitiable  cases  of  need  had  not  been  relieved  by  some- 
body among  the  five  million  who  so  easily  could  give 
the  trifles  desired.  For  example: 

"Case  No.  47.  A  young  man,  25,  hope- 
lessly crippled  and  bedridden,  could 
learn  to  do  useful  work,  sufficient  to 
support  him,  if  $25  for  equipment  were 
sent  to  the  United  Charities  office." 

Contributors  were  asked  to  mention  Case  No.   47 
when  sending  cheques  for  relief. 
He  read  on  mechanically: 

"Case  No.  108.  This  case  has  been 
partly  relieved  through  contributions, 
but  thirty  dollars  are  still  required. 
Otherwise,  these  two  aged  and  helpless 
gentlewomen  must  lose  their  humble 
little  home,  and  an  institution  will  have 
to  take  care  of  them.  Neither  one  has 
many  more  years  to  live.  A  trifling  aid, 
now,  means  that  the  few  remaining  days 
left  to  these  old  people  will  be  tranquil 
days,  free  from  the  dread  of  separation 
and  destitution." 

"Case  113.  The  father,  consumptive 
and  unable  to  work;  the  mother  still 
weak  from  childbirth ;  the  only  other 
wage-earner  a  daughter  aged  sixteen, 
under  arrest;  four  little  children  de- 
pendent. Seventy  dollars  will  tide  them 
over  until  the  mother  can  recover  and 
resume  her  wage-earning,  which,  with 
the  daughter's  assistance,  will  be  suffi- 
cient to  keep  the  family  together.  Three 
of  the  children  are  defectives ;  the  old- 
est sister,  a  cash-girl,  has  been  arrested 
and  held  as  a  witness  for  attending,  at 
her  mother's  request,  a  clinic  conducted 
by  people  advocating  birth-control ;  and 
the  three  dollars  a  week  which  she 
brought  to  the  family  has  been  stopped 
indefinitely." 

"Case  119.  For  this  case  no  money  at 
all  has  been  received  so  far.  It  is  the 

21 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


case  of  a  little  child,  Stephanie  Quest, 
left  an  orphan  by  the  death  or  suicide 
of  both  drug-addicted  parents,  and 
taken  into  the  family  of  a  kindly  Ger- 
man carpenter  two  years  ago.  It  is  the 
first  permanent  shelter  the  child  has 
ever  known,  the  first  kindness  ever 
offered  her,  the  first  time  she  has  ever 
had  sufficient  nourishment  in  all  her 
eleven  years  of  life.  Now  she  is  in 
danger  of  losing  the  only  home  she  has 
ever  had.  Stephanie  is  a  pretty,  deli- 
cate, winsome  and  engaging  little  crea- 
ture of  eleven,  whose  only  experience 
with  life  had  been  savage  cruelty,  gross 
neglect,  filth  and  immemorial  starvation 
until  the  carpenter  took  her  into  his  own 
too  numerous  family,  and  his  wife  cared 
for  her  as  though  she  were  their  own 
Child. 

"But  they  have  five  children  of  their 
own,  and  the  wife  is  soon  to  have  an- 
other baby.  Low  wages,  irregular  em- 
ployment, the  constantly  increasing  cost 
of  living,  now  make  it  impossible  for 
them  to  feed  and  clothe  an  extra  child. 

"They  are  fond  of  the  little  girl ;  they 
are  willing  to  keep  and  care  for  her  if 
fifty  dollars  could  be  contributed  toward 
her  support.  But  if  this  sum  be  not 
forthcoming,  little  Stephanie  will  have 
to  go  to  an  institution. 

"The  child  is  now  physically  healthy. 
She  is  of  a  winning  personality,  but 
somewhat  impulsive,  unruly,  and  wilful 
at  times ;  and  it  would  be  far  better  for 
her  future  welfare  to  continue  to  live 
with  these  sober,  kindly,  honest  people 
who  love  her,  than  to  be  sent  to  an  or- 
phanage." 

"Case  No.  123.  A  very  old  man,  des- 
perately poor  and  ill  and  entirely " 

John  Cleland  dropped  the  paper  suddenly  across  his 
knees.  A  fierce  distaste  for  suffering,  an  abrupt  dis- 
inclination for  such  details  checked  further  perusal. 

"Damnation!"  he  muttered,  fumbling  for  another 
cigar. 

22 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


His  charities  already  had  been  attended  to  for  the 
year.  That  portion  of  his  income  devoted  to  such 
things  was  now  entirely  used  up.  But  he  remained 
uneasily  aware  that  the  portion  reserved  for  further 
acquisition  of  Americana — books,  prints,  pictures, 
early  American  silver,  porcelains,  furniture,  was  still 
intact  for  the  new  year  now  beginning. 

That  was  his  only  refuge  from  loneliness  and  the 
ever-living  grief — the  plodding  hunt  for  such  things 
and  the  study  connected  with  this  pursuit.  Except  for 
his  son — his  ruling  passion — he  had  no  other  interest, 
now  that  his  wife  was  dead — nothing  that  particularly 
mattered  to  him  in  life  except  this  collecting  of 
Americana. 

And  now  his  son  had  gone  away  again.  The  day 
had  to  be  filled — filled  rather  quickly,  too;  for  the 
parting  still  hurt  cruelly,  and  with  a  dull  persistence 
that  he  had  not  yet  shaken  off.  He  must  busy  him- 
self with  something.  He'd  go  out  again  presently,  and 
mouse  about  among  musty  stacks  of  furniture  "in  the 
rough."  Then  he'd  prowl  through  auction  rooms  and 
screw  a  jeweller's  glass  into  his  right  eye  and  pore 
over  mezzotints. 

He  allowed  himself  just  so  much  to  spend  on  Ameri- 
cana; just  so  much  to  spend  on  his  establishment,  so 
much  to  invest,  so  much  to  give  to  charity 

"Damnation!"  he  repeated  aloud. 

It  was  the  last  morning  of  the  exhibition  at  the 
Christensen  Galleries  of  early  American  furniture. 
That  afternoon  the  sale  was  to  begin.  He  had  not  had 
time  for  preliminary  investigation.  He  realized  the 
importance  of  the  collection ;  knew  that  his  friends  would 
be  there  in  force;  and  hated  the  thought  of  losing 
such  a  chance. 

23 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Turning  the  leaves  of  his  newspaper  for  the  adver- 
tisement, he  found  himself  again  confronted  by  the 
columns  containing  the  dreary  "Hundred  Neediest 
Cases."  And  against  every  inclination  he  re-read  the 
details  of  Case  119. 

Odd,  he  thought  to  himself  angrily,  that  there  was 
nobody  in  the  city  to  contribute  the  few  dollars  neces- 
sary to  this  little  girl.  The  case  in  question  required 
only  fifty  dollars.  Fifty  dollars  meant  a  home,  pos- 
sibly moral  salvation,  to  this  child  with  her  winning 
disposition  and  unruly  ways. 

He  read  the  details  again,  more  irritated  than  ever, 
yet  grimly  interested  to  note  that,  as  usual,  it  is  the 
very  poor  with  many  burdens  who  help  the  poor.  This 
carpenter,  living  probably  in  a  tenement,  with  a  wife, 
an  unborn  baby,  and  a  herd  of  squalling  children  to 
support,  had  still  found  room  for  another  little  waif, 
whose  drug-sodden  parents  had  been  kind  to  her  only 
by  dying. 

John  Cleland  turned  the  page,  searched  for  the  ad- 
vertisement of  the  Christensen  Galleries,  discovered  it, 
read  it  carefully.  There  were  some  fine  old  prints 
advertised  to  be  sold.  His  hated  rivals  would  be  there 
— beloved  friends  yet  hated  rivals  in  the  endless  bat  tie 
for  bargains  in  antiquities. 

When  he  got  into  his  car  a  few  minutes  later,  he  told 
the  chauffeur  to  drive  to  Christensen's  and  drive  fast. 
Halfway  there,  he  signalled  and  spoke  through  the 
tube  : 

"Where  is  the  United  Charities  Building?  Where? 
Well,  drive  there  first." 

"Damn!"  he  muttered,  readjusting  himself  in  the 
corner  under  the  lynx  robe. 


CHAPTER  II 

WOULD  you  care  to  go  there  and  see  the  child 
for  yourself,  Mr.  Cleland?  A  few  moments 
might  give  you  a  much  clearer  idea  of  her 
than  all  that  I  have  told  you,"  suggested  the  capable 
young  woman  to  whom  he  had  been  turned  over  in 
that  vast  labyrinth  of  offices  tenemented  by  the  "United 
Charities  Organizations  of  Manhattan  and  the  Four 
Boroughs,  Inc." 

John  Cleland  signed  the  cheque  which  he  had  filled 
in,  laid  it  on  the  desk,  closed  his  cheque-book,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"I'm  a  busy  man,"  he  said  briefly. 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry !  I  wish  you  had  time  to  see  her  for 
a  moment.  You  may  obtain  permission  through  the 
Manhattan  Charities  Concern,  a  separate  organization, 
which  turns  over  certain  cases  to  the  excellent  child- 
placing  agency  connected  with  our  corporation." 

"Thank  you ;  I  haven't  time." 

"Mr.  Chiltern  Grismer  would  be  the  best  man  to  see 
— if  you  had  time." 

"Thank  you." 

There  was  a  chilly  silence;  Cleland  stood  frowning 
at  space,  wrapped  in  gloomy  preoccupation. 

"But,"  added  the  capable  young  woman,  wistfully, 
"if  you  are  so  busy  that  you  have  no  time  to  bother 
with  this  case  personally " 

"I  have  time,"  snapped  Cleland,  turning  red.  For 
25 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


the  man  was  burdened  with  the  inconvenient  honesty 
of  his  race — a  sort  of  tactless  truthfulness  which  char- 
acterized all  Clelands.  He  said: 

"When  I  informed  you  that  I'm  a  busy  man,  I  evi- 
dently but  unintentionally  misled  you.  I'm  not  in  busi- 
ness. I  have  time.  I  simply  don't  wish  to  go  into 
the  slums  to  see  somebody's  perfectly  strange  off- 
spring." 

The  amazed  young  woman  listened,  hesitated,  then 
threw  back  her  pretty  head  and  laughed: 

"Mr.  Cleland,  your  frankness  is  most  refreshing! 
Certainly  there  is  no  necessity  for  you  to  go  if  you 
don't  wish  to.  The  little  girl  will  be  most  grateful  to 
you  for  this  generous  cheque,  and  happy  to  be  relieved 
of  the  haunting  terror  that  has  made  her  almost  ill  at 
the  prospect  of  an  orphanage.  The  child  will  be  be- 
side herself  with  joy  when  she  gets  word  from  us  that 
she  need  not  lose  the  only  home  and  the  only  friends 
she  has  ever  known.  Thank  you — for  little  Stephanie 
Quest." 

"What  did  the  other  people  do  to  her?"  inquired 
John  Cleland,  buttoning  his  gloves  and  still  scowling 
absently  at  nothing. 

"What  people?" 

"The  ones  who — her  parents,  I  mean.  What  was  it 
they  did  to  her?" 

"They  were  dreadfully  inhuman " 

"What  did  they  do  to  the  child?    Do  you  know?" 

"Yes,  I  know,  Mr.  Cleland.  They  beat  her  merci- 
lessly when  they  happened  to  be  crazed  by  drugs ;  they 
neglected  her  when  sober.  The  little  thing  was  a  mass 
of  cuts  and  sores  and  bruises  when  we  investigated  her 
case;  two  of  her  ribs  had  been  broken,  somehow  or 
other,  and  were  not  yet  healed " 

26 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Oh,  Lord !"  he  interrupted  sharply.  "That's  enough 

of  such  devilish  detail! I  beg  your  pardon,  but 

such  things — annoy  me.  Also  I've  some  business  that's 
waiting — or  pleasure,  whichever  you  choose  to  call 
it "  He  glanced  at  his  watch,  thinking  of  the  ex- 
hibition at  Christensen's,  and  the  several  rival  and 
hawk-like  amateurs  who  certainly  would  be  prowling 
around  there,  deriding  him  for  his  absence  and  looking 
for  loot. 

"Where  does  that  child  live?"  he  added  carelessly, 
buttoning  his  overcoat. 

The  capable  young  woman,  who  had  been  regarding 
him  with  suppressed  amusement,  wrote  out  the  address 
on  a  pad,  tore  off  the  leaf,  and  handed  it  to  him. 

" — In  case  you  ever  become  curious  to  see  little 
Stephanie  Quest,  whom  you  have  aided  so  gener- 
ously  "  she  explained. 

Cleland,  recollecting  with  increasing  annoyance  that 
he  had  three  hundred  dollars  less  to  waste  on  Christen- 
sen  than  he  had  that  morning,  muttered  the  polite  for- 
mality of  leave-taking  required  of  him,  and  bowed  him- 
self out,  carrying  the  slip  of  paper  in  his  gloved  fingers, 
extended  as  though  he  were  looking  for  a  place  to  drop 
it. 

Down  in  the  street,  where  his  car  stood,  the  side- 
walks were  slowly  whitening  under  leisurely  falling 
snowflakes.  The  asphalt  already  was  a  slippery  mess. 

"Where's  that!"  he  demanded  peevishly,  shoving  the 
slip  of  paper  at  his  chauffeur.  "Do  you  know?" 

"I  can  find  it,  sir." 

"All  right,"  snapped  John  Cleland. 

He  stepped  into  the  little  limousine  and  settled  back 
with  a  grunt.  Then  he  hunched  himself  up  in  the 
corner  and  perked  the  fur  robe  over  his  knees,  mutter- 

27 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ing.  Thoughts  of  his  wife,  of  his  son,  had  been  heavily 
persistent  that  morning.  Never  before  had  he  felt 
actually  old — he  was  only  fifty-odd.  Never  before  had 
he  felt  himself  so  alone,  so  utterly  solitary.  Never 
had  he  so  needed  the  comradeship  of  his  only  son. 

He  had  relapsed  into  a  sort  of  grim,  unhappy 
lethargy,  haunted  by  memories  of  his  son's  baby  days, 
when  the  car  stopped  in  the  tenement-lined  street, 
swarming  with  push-carts  and  children. 

The  damp,  rank  stench  of  the  unwashed  smote  him 
as  he  stepped  out  and  entered  the  dirty  hallway,  set 
with  bells  and  letter  boxes  and  littered  with  debris  and 
filthy  melting  snow. 

The  place  was  certainly  vile  enough.  A  deformed 
woman  with  sore  eyes  directed  him  to  the  floor  where 
the  Schmidt  family  lived.  On  the  landing  he  stumbled 
over  several  infants  who  were  playing  affectionately 
with  a  dead  cat — probably  the  first  substitute  for  a 
doll  they  had  ever  possessed.  A  fight  in  some  room 
on  the  second  floor  arrested  his  attention,  and  he  halted, 
alert  and  undecided,  when  the  dim  hallway  resounded 
with  screams  of  murder. 

But  a  slatternly  young  woman  who  was  passing 
explained  very  coolly  that  it  was  only  "thim  Cassidys 
mixing  it" ;  and  she  went  her  way  down  stairs  with  her 
cracked  pitcher,  and  he  continued  upward. 

"Schmidt?  In  there,"  replied  a  small  boy  to  his 
inquiry;  and  resumed  his  game  of  ball  against  the 
cracked  plaster  wall  of  the  passage. 

Answering  his  knock,  a  shapeless  woman  opened  the 
door. 

"Mrs.  Schmidt?" 

"Yes,  sir," — retying  the  string  which  alone  kept  up 
her  skirt. 

28 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


He  explained  briefly  who  he  was,  where  he  had  been, 
what  he  had  done  through  the  United  Charities  for 
the  child,  Stephanie. 

"I'd  like  to  take  a  look  at  her,"  he  added,  "if  it's  per- 
fectly convenient." 

Mrs.  Schmidt  began  to  cry: 

"-Eascuse  me,  sir;  I'm  so  glad  we  can  keep  her.  Al- 
bert has  all  he  can  do  for  our  own  kids — but  the  poor 
little  thing! — it  seemed  hard  to  send  her  away  to  a 

Home "  She  gouged  out  the  tears  abruptly  with 

the  back  of  a  red,  water-soaked  hand. 

"Steve!  Here's  a  kind  gentleman  come  to  see  you. 
Dry  your  hands,  dearie,  and  come  and  thank  him." 

A  grey-eyed  child  appeared — one  of  those  slender 
little  shapes,  graceful  in  every  unconscious  movement 
of  head  and  limbs.  She  was  drying  her  thin  red  fingers 
on  a  bit  of  rag  as  she  came  forward,  the  steam  of  the 
wash-boiler  still  rising  from  her  bare  arms. 

A  loud,  continuous  noise  arose  in  the  further  room, 
as  though  it  were  full  of  birds  and  animals  fighting. 

For  a  moment  the  tension  of  inquiry  and  embarrass- 
ment between  the  three  endured  in  silence ;  then  an  odd, 
hot  flush  seemed  to  envelop  the  heart  of  Cleland  Senior 
— and  something  tense  within  his  brain  loosened,  flood- 
ing his  entire  being  with  infinite  relief.  The  man  had 
been  starving  for  a  child;  that  was  all.  He  had  sud- 
denly found  her.  But  he  didn't  realize  it  even  now. 

There  was  a  shaky  chair  in  the  exceedingly  clean  but 
wretchedly  furnished  room.  Cleland  Senior  went  over 
and  seated  himself  gingerly. 

"Well,  Steve?"  he  said  with  a  pleasant,  humourous 
smile.  But  his  voice  was  not  quite  steady. 

"Thank  the  good,  kind  gentleman!"  burst  out  Mrs. 
Schmidt,  beginning  to  sob  again,  and  to  swab  the  well- 

29 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ing  tears  with  the  mottled  backs  of  both  fists.  "You're 
going  to  stay  with  us,  dearie.  They  ain't  no  policeman 
coming  to  take  you  to  no  institoot  for  orphan  little 
girls !  The  good,  kind  gentleman  has  give  the  money 
for  it.  Go  down  onto  your  knees  and  thank  him, 
Steve !" 

"Are  you  really  going  to  keep  me?"  faltered  the 
child.  "Is  it  true?" 

"Yes,  it's  true,  dearie.  Don't  go  a-kissing  me!  Go 
and  thank  the  good,  kind " 

"Let  me  talk  to  the  child  alone,"  interrupted  Cleland 
drily.  "And  shut  the  door,  please!" — glancing  into 
the  farther  room  where  a  clothes-boiler  steamed,  onions 
were  frying,  five  yelling  children  swarmed  over  every 
inch  of  furniture,  a  baby  made  apocryphal  remarks 
from  a  home-made  cradle,  and  a  canary  bird  sang  shrilly 
and  incessantly. 

Mrs.  Schmidt  retired,  sobbing,  extolling  the  goodness 
and  kindness  of  John  Cleland,  who  endured  it  with  pa- 
tience until  the  closed  door  shut  out  eulogies,  yells, 
canary  and  onions. 

Then  he  said: 

"Steve,  you  need  not  thank  me.  Just  shake  hands 
with  me.  Will  you?  I — I  like  children." 

The  little  girl,  whose  head  was  still  turned  toward 
the  closed  door  behind  which  had  disappeared  the  only 
woman  who  had  ever  been  consistently  kind  to  her,  now 
looked  around  at  this  large,  strange  man  in  his  fur- 
lined  coat,  who  sat  there  smiling  at  her  in  such  friendly 
fashion. 

And  slowly,  timidly,  over  the  child's  face  the  faint- 
est of  smiles  crept  in  delicate  response  to  his  advances. 
Yet  still  in  the  wonderful  grey  eyes  there  remained  that 
heart-rending  expression  of  fearful  inquiry  which 

30 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


haunts  the  gaze  of  children  who  have  been  cruelly  used. 

"Is  your  name  Stephanie?" 
B  "Yes,  sir." 
*  "Stephanie  Quest?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  shall  I  call  you?    Steve?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  winningly  grave. 

"All  right,  then.     Steve,  will  you  shake  hands?" 

The  child  laid  her  thin,  red,  water-marred  fingers  in 
his  gloved  hand.  He  retained  them,  and  drew  her 
nearer. 

"You've  had  a  rather  tough  deal,  Steve,  haven't 
you?" 

The  child  was  silent,  standing  with  head  lowered,  her 
bronzed  brown  hair  hanging  and  shadowing  shoulders 
and  face. 

"Do  you  go  to  school,  Steve?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Not  to-day?" 

"No,  sir.    It's  Saturday." 

"Oh,  yes.    I  forgot.    What  do  you  learn  in  school  ?" 

"Things — writing — reading." 

"Do  you  like  school?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  do  you  like  best?" 

"Dancing." 

"Do  they  teach  that?  What  kind  of  dancing  do  you 
learn  to  do?" 

"Fancy  dancing — folk-dances.  And  I  like  the  little 
plays  that  teacher  gets  up  for  us." 

"Do  you  like  any  other  of  your  studies?"  he  asked 
drily. 

"Droring." 

"Drawing?" 

31 


"Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  flushing  painfully. 

"Oh.  So  they  teach  you  to  draw?  Who  instructs 
you?" 

"Miss  Crowe.  She  comes  every  week.  We  copy  pic- 
ture cards  and  things." 

"So  you  like  to  draw,  Steve,"  nodded  Cleland  ab- 
sently, thinking  of  his  only  son,  who  liked  to  write,  and 
who,  God  willing,  would  have  every  chance  to  develop 
his  bent  in  life.  Then,  still  thinking  of  his  only  son, 
he  looked  up  into  the  grey  eyes  of  this  little  stranger. 

As  fate  would  have  it,  she  smiled  at  him.  And,  look- 
ing at  her  in  silence  he  felt  the  child-hunger  gnaw- 
ing in  his  heart — felt  it,  and  for  the  first  time, 
vaguely  surmised  what  it  really  was  that  had  so  long 
ailed  him. 

But  the  idea,  of  course,  seemed  hopeless,  impossible ! 
It  was  not  fair  to  his  only  son.  Everything  that  he  had 
was  his  son's — everything  he  had  to  give — care,  sym- 
pathy, love,  worldly  possessions.  These  belonged  to  his 
son  alone. 

"Are  you  happy  here  with  these  kind  people,  Steve  ?" 
he  asked  hastily. 

"Yes,  sir." 

But  though  his  conscience  should  have  instantly  ac- 
quitted him,  deep  in  his  lonely  heart  the  child-hunger 
gnawed,  unsatisfied.  If  only  there  had  been  other  chil- 
dren of  his  own — younger  ones  to  play  with,  to  have 
near  him  in  his  solitude,  to  cuddle,  to  caress,  to  fuss 
over  as  he  and  his  dead  wife  had  fussed  over  their  only 
baby ! 

"Steve?" 

"Sir?" 

"You  are  sure  you  will  be  quite  happy  here?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

32 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Would  you "  A  pause;  and  again  he  looked 

up  into  the  child's  face,  and  again  she  smiled. 

"Steve,  I  never  had  a  little  girl.  It's  funny,  isn't 
it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

A  silence. 

"Would  you  like  to — to  go  to  a  private  school?" 

The  child  did  not  understand.  So  he  told  her  about 
such  schools  and  the  little  girls  who  went  to  them. 
She  seemed  deeply  interested ;  her  grey  eyes  were  clear 
and  seriously  intelligent,  and  very,  very  intently  fixed 
on  him  in  the  effort  to  follow  and  understand  what  he 
was  saying. 

He  told  her  about  other  children  who  lived  amid 
happy  surroundings ;  what  they  did,  how  they  were 
cared  for,  schooled,  brought  up ;  what  was  expected 
of  them  by  the  world — what  was  required  by  the  world 
from  those  who  had  had  advantages  of  a  home,  of  train- 
ing, of  friends,  and  of  an  education.  He  was  commit- 
ting himself  with  every  word,  and  refused  to  believe  it. 

At  times  he  paused  to  question  her,  and  she  always 
nodded  seriously  that  she  understood. 

"But  this,"  he  added  smilingly,  "you  may  not  en- 
tirely comprehend,  Steve;  that  such  children,  brought 
up  as  I  have  explained  to  you,  owe  the  human  race  a 
debt  which  is  never  cancelled."  He  was  talking  to  him- 
self now,  more  than  to  her ;  voicing  his  thoughts ;  feel- 
ing his  way  toward  the  expression  of  a  philosophy  which 
he  had  heretofore  only  vaguely  entertained. 

"The  hope  of  the  world  lies  in  such  children,  Steve," 
he  said.  "The  world  has  a  right  to  expect  service  from 
them.  You  don't  understand,  do  you?" 

Her  wonderfully  clear  eyes  were  almost  beautiful 
with  intelligence  as  they  looked  straight  into  his.  Per- 

33 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


haps  the  child  understood  more  than  she  herself  real- 
ized, more  than  he  believed  she  understood. 

"Shall  I  come  to  see  you  again,  Steve?" 

"Yes,  sir,  please." 

There  was  a  pause.  Very  gently  the  slight  pressure 
of  his  arm,  which  had  crept  around  her,  conveyed  to 
her  its  wistful  meaning;  and  when  she  understood  she 
leaned  slowly  toward  him  in  winning  response,  and  of- 
fered her  lips  with  a  gravity  that  captivated  him. 

"Good-bye,  Steve,  dear,"  he  said  unsteadily.  "I'll 
come  to  see  you  again  very  soon.  I  surely,  surely  will 
come  back  again  to  see  you,  Steve." 

Then  he  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out  abruptly — not 
down  town  to  Christensen's,  but  back  to  the  United 
Charities,  and,  after  an  hour,  from  there  he  went  down 
town  to  his  attorney's,  where  he  spent  the  entire  day 
under  suppressed  excitement. 

For  there  were  many  steps  to  take  and  much  detail 
to  be  attended  to  before  this  new  and  momentous  deal 
could  be  put  through — a  transaction  concerning  a 
human  soul  and  the  measures  to  be  taken  to  insure  its 
salvage. 


CHAPTER  HI 

DURING  the  next  few  weeks  John  William  Cle- 
land's  instinct  fought  a  continuous  series  of 
combats  with  his  reason. 

Instinct,  with  her  powerful  allies,  loneliness  and  love, 
urged  the  solitary  man  to  rash  experiment ;  reason  ridi- 
culed impulse  and  made  it  very  clear  to  Cleland  that  he 
was  a  fool. 

But  instinct  had  this  advantage;  she  was  always 
awake,  whispering  to  his  mind  and  heart ;  and  reason 
often  fell  asleep  on  guard  over  his  brain. 

But  when  awake,  reason  laughed  at  the  conspirators, 
always  in  ambush  to  slay  him ;  and  carried  matters  with 
a  high  hand,  rebuking  instinct  and  frowning  upon  her 
allies. 

And  John  Cleland  hesitated.  He  wrote  to  his  only 
son  every  day.  He  strove  to  find  occupation  for  every 
minute  between  the  morning  awakening  in  his  silent 
chamber  and  the  melancholy  lying  down  at  night. 

But  always  the  battle  between  reason  and  instinct 
continued. 

Reason  had  always  appealed  to  Cleland  Senior.  His 
parents  and  later  his  wife  and  son  had  known  the  only 
sentimental  phenomena  which  had  ever  characterized 
him  in  his  career.  Outside  of  these  exceptions,  reason 
had  always  ruled  him.  This  is  usually  the  case  among 
those  who  inherit  money  from  forebears  who,  in  turn, 
have  been  accustomed  to  inherit  and  hand  down  a  mod- 

35 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


erate  but  unimpaired  fortune  through  sober  genera- 
tions. 

Such  people  are  born  logical  when  not  born  fools. 
And  now  Cleland  Senior,  mortified  and  irritated  by  the 
increasing  longing  which  obsessed  him,  asked  himself 
frequently  which  of  these  he  really  was. 

Every  atom  of  logic  in  him  counselled  him  to  ab- 
stain from  what  every  instinct  in  him  was  desiring  and 
demanding — a  little  child  to  fill  the  loneliness  of  his 
heart  and  house — something  to  mitigate  the  absence 
of  his  son,  whose  absences  must,  in  the  natural  course 
of  events,  become  more  frequent  and  of  longer  duration 
with  the  years  of  college  imminent,  and  the  demands 
of  new  interests,  new  friends  increasing  year  by  year. 

He  told  himself  that  to  take  another  child  into  his 
home  would  be  unfair  to  Jim ;  to  take  her  into  his  heart 
was  disloyal;  that  the  dear  past  belonged  to  his  wife 
alone,  the  present  and  the  future  to  his  only  son. 

And  all  the  while  the  man  was  starving  for  what  he 
wanted. 

Well,  the  arrangements  took  some  time  to  complete; 
but  they  were  fairly  complete  when  finished.  She  kept 
her  own  name ;  she  was  to  have  six  thousand  dollars  a 
year  for  life  after  she  became  twenty-one.  He  charged 
himself  with  her  mental,  moral,  spiritual,  physical,  and 
general  education. 

It  came  about  in  the  following  manner: 

First  of  all,  he  went  to  see  a  gentleman  whom  he  had 
known  for  many  years,  but  whose  status  with  himself 
had  always  remained  a  trifle  indefinite  in  his  mind — 
somewhere  betwixt  indifferent  friendship  and  informal 
acquaintanceship. 

The  gentleman's  name  was  Chiltern  Grismer ;  his  busi- 
ness, charity  and  religion.  He  did  not  dispense  either 

36 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


of  these,  however;  he  made  a  living  for  himself  out  of 
both.  Cleland  had  learned  at  the  United  Charities  that 
Grismer  was  an  important  personage  in  the  Manhat- 
tan Charities  Concern,  a  separate  sectarian  affair  with 
a  big  office  building,  and  a  book  bindery  in  Brooklyn 
for  the  immense  tonnage  of  sectarian  books  and  pamph- 
lets published  and  sold  by  the  "Concern,"  as  it  called 
itself.  The  profits  were  said  to  be  enormous. 

Grismer,  tall,  bony,  sandy  and  with  a  pair  of  un- 
usually light  yellowish  eyes  behind  eye-glasses,  appeared 
the  classical  philanthropist  of  the  stage.  With  his 
white,  bushy  side-whiskers,  his  frock  coat,  and  his  little 
ready-made  black  bow-tie,  silghtly  askew  under  a  high 
choker,  he  certainly  dressed  the  part.  In  fact,  any 
dramatic  producer  would  have  welcomed  him  in  the  role, 
for  he  had  no  "business"  to  learn ;  it  was  perfectly  nat- 
ural for  him  to  join  his  finger  tips  together  while  con- 
versing ;  and  his  voice  and  manner  left  nothing  whatever 
to  criticize. 

"Ah!  My  friend  of  many  years!"  he  exclaimed  as 
Cleland  was  ushered  into  his  office  in  the  building  of 
the  Manhattan  Charities  Concern.  "And  how,  I  pray, 
can  I  be  of  service  to  my  old  friend,  John  Cleland? 
M-m-m'yes — my  friend  of  many  years  !" 

Cleland  told  his  story  very  simply,  adding: 

"I  understand  that  your  Concern  is  handling  Case 
119,  Grismer — acting,  I  believe,  for  a  child-placing 
agency." 

"  Which  case  ?"  demanded  Grismer,  almost  sharply. 

"Case  119.  The  case  of  Stephanie  Quest,"  repeated 
Cleland. 

Grismer  looked  at  him  with  odd  intentness  for  a 
moment,  then  his  eyes  shifted,  as  though  something  were 
disturbing  his  suave  mental  tranquillity : 

37 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"M-m-m'yes.  Oh,  yes.  I  believe  we  have  this  case  to 
handle  among  many  others.  M-m-m!  Quite  so;  quite 
so.  Case  119?  Quite  so." 

"May  I  have  the  child?"  asked  Cleland  bluntly. 

"Bless  me!  Do  you  really  wish  to  take  such 
chances,  Cleland?" 

"Why  not?    Others  take  them,  don't  they?" 

"M-m-m'yes.  Oh,  yes.  Certainly.  But  it  is 
usually  people  of  the — ah — middle  and  lower  classes 
who  adopt  children.  M-m-m'yes ;  the  middle  and  lower 
classes.  And,  naturally,  they  would  not  be  very  much 
disappointed  in  a  foundling  or  waif  who  failed  to — ah 
— develop  the  finer,  subtler,  more  delicate  Christian 
qualities  that  a  gentleman  in  your  position  might  rea- 
sonably expect — m-m-m'yes! — might,  as  it  were,  de- 
mand in  an  adopted  child." 

"I'll  take  those  chances  in  the  case  in  question,"  said 
Cleland,  quietly. 

"M-m-m'yes,  the  case  in  question.    Case  119.    Quite 

so.  ...    I  am  wondering "  he  passed  a  large,  dry 

hand  over  his  chin  and  mouth,  reflectively,  while  his 
light-coloured  eyes  remained  alertly  on  duty.  "I  have 
been  wondering  whether  you  have  looked  about  before 
deciding  on  this  particular  child.  There  are  a  great 
many  other  deserving  cases,  m-m-m'yes — a  great  many 
deserving  cases " 

"I  want  this  particular  child,  Grismer." 

"Quite  so.  M-m-m'yes."  He  looked  up  almost  fur- 
tively. "You — ah — have  some  previous  knowledge,  per- 
haps, of  this  little  girl's  antecedents  ?" 

Mr.  Grismer's  voice  grew  soft  and  persuasive;  his 
finger  tips  were  gently  joined.  Cleland,  looking  up  at 
him,  caught  a  glimmer  resembling  suspicion  in  those 
curiously  light-coloured  eyes. 

38 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Yes,  I  have  learned  certain  things  about  her,"  he 
said  shortly.  "I  know  enough!  I  want  that  child  for 
mine  and  I'm  going  to  have  her." 

"May  I  ask — ah — just  what  facts  you  have  learned 
about  this  unfortunate  infant?" 

Cleland,  bored  to  the  verge  of  irritation,  told  him 
what  he  had  learned. 

There  was  a  silence  during  which  Grismer  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  he  had  better  tell  Cleland  another 
fact  which  necessary  legal  investigation  of  the  child's 
antecedents  might  more  bluntly  reveal.  Yes,  certainly 
Grismer  felt  that  he  ought  to  place  himself  on  record 
at  once  and  explain  this  embarrassing  fact  in  his  own 
way  before  others  cruelly  misinterpreted  it  to  Cleland. 
For  John  Cleland's  position  in  New  York  among  men 
of  wealth,  of  affairs,  of  influence,  and  of  culture  made 
this  sudden  and  unfortunate  whim  of  his  for  Stephanie 
Quest  a  matter  of  awkward  importance  to  Chiltern 
Grismer,  who  had  not  cared  to  figure  in  the  case 
at  all. 

Grismer's  large,  dry  hand  continued  to  massage  his 
jaw.  Now  and  then  the  bony  fingers  wandered  caress- 
ingly toward  the  white  side- whiskers,  but  always  re- 
turned to  screen  the  thin  lips  with  a  gentle,  incessant 
massage. 

"Cleland,"  he  began  in  a  solemn  voice,  "have  you 
ever  heard  that  this  child  is — ah — is  a  very  distant  con- 
nection of  my  family  ? — m-m-m'yes — my  immediate  fam- 
ily. Have  you  ever  heard  any  ill-natured  gossip  of  this 
nature?" 

Cleland,  too  astonished  to  reply,  merely  gazed  at 
him.  And  Grismer  wrongly  concluded  that  he  had 
heard  about  it,  somewhere  or  other. 

"M-m-m'yes — a  connection — very  distant,  of  course. 

39 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


In  the  event  that  you  have  heard  of  this  unfortunate 
affair  from  sources  perhaps  unfriendly  to  myself  and 
family — m-m-m'yes,  unfriendly — possibly  it  were  ju- 
dicious to  explain  the  matter  to  you — in  justice  to 
myself." 

"I  never  heard  of  it,"  said  Cleland,  " — never  dreamed 
of  such  a  connection." 

But  to  Grismer  all  men  were  liars. 

"Oh,  I  did  not  know.  I  thought  you  might  have 
heard  malicious  rumours.  But  it  is  just  as  well  that 
you  should  be  correctly  informed.  .  .  .  Do  you  recol- 
lect ever  reading  anything  concerning  my — ah — late 
sister?" 

"Do  you  mean  something  that  happened  many,  many 
years  ago?" 

"That  is  what  I  refer  to.  Did  you  read  of  it  in  the 
newspapers  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Cleland.  "I  read  that  she  ran  away  with 
a  married  man." 

"Doubtless,"  continued  Grismer  with  a  sigh,  "you 
recollect  the  dreadful  disgrace  she  brought  upon  my 
family?  The  cruel  scandal  exploited  by  a  pitiless  and 
malicious  press?" 

Cleland  said  nothing. 

"Let  me  tell  you  the  actual  facts,"  continued  Gris- 
mer gently.  "The  unfortunate  woman  became  infat- 
uated with  a  common  Pullman  conductor — an  Irish- 
man named  Conway — a  very  ordinary  man  who  already 
was  married. 

"His  religion  forbade  divorce ;  my  wretched  sister  ran 
away  with  him.  We  have  always  striven  to  bear  the 
disgrace  with  resignation — m-m-m'yes,  with  patience 
and  resignation.  That  is  the  story." 

Cleland,  visibly  embarrassed,  sat  twisting  the  handle 

40 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


of  his  walking-stick,  looking  persistently  away  from 
Grismer.  The  latter  sighed  heavily. 

"And  so,"  he  murmured,  "our  door  was  forever  closed 
to  her  and  hers.  She  became  as  one  ignobly  dead  to 
us — as  a  soul  damned  for  all  eternity." 

"Oh,  come,  Grismer " 

"Damned — hopelessly,  and  for  all  eternity,"  re- 
peated Grismer  with  a  slight  snap  of  his  jaw;  " — she 
and  her  children,  and  her  children's  children 

"What!" 

" — The  sins  of  the  parents  that  are  borne  through 
generations !" 

"Nonsense !    That  is  Old  Testament  bosh " 

"Pardon!"  said  Grismer,  with  a  pained  forbearance. 
"It  is  the  creed  of  those  who  worship  and  believe  the 
truth  as  taught  in  the  church  of  which  I  am  a  mem- 
ber." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"Granted,"  said  Grismer  sadly. 

He  sat  caressing  his  jaw  in  silence  for  a  while,  then: 

"Her  name  was  Jessie  Grismer.  She — ah — assumed 
the  name  of  Conway.  .  .  .  God  did  not  bless  the  un- 
holy union.  There  was  a  daughter,  Laura.  A  certain 
Harry  Quest,  the  profligate,  wasted  son  of  that  good 
man,  the  Reverend  Anthony  Quest,  married  this  girl, 
Laura  Conway.  .  .  .  God,  mindful  of  His  wrath,  still 
punished  the  seed  of  my  sinful  sister,  even  until  the  sec- 
ond generation.  .  .  .  Stephanie  Quest  is  their  daugh- 
ter." 

"Good  heavens,  Grismer!  I  can't  understand  that 
you,  knowing  this,  have  not  done  something — 

"Why?  Am  I  to  presume  to  interfere  with  God's 
purpose?  Am  I  to  question  the  righteousness  of  His 
wrath?" 

41 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"But — she  is  the  little  grandchild  of  your  own  sis- 
ter!  " 

"A  sister  utterly  cut  off  from  among  us !  A  sister 
dead  to  us — a  soul  eternally  lost  and  to  be  eternally 
forgotten." 

"Is  that  your — creed — Grismer?" 

"It  is." 

"Oh.  I  thought  that  sort  of — I  mean,  I  thought 
such  creeds  were  out  of  date — old-fashioned " 

"God,"  said  Chil tern  Grismer  patiently,  "is  old-fash- 
ioned, I  believe — m-m-m'yes — very  old  fashioned,  Cle- 
land.  But  His  purposes  are  terrible,  and  His  wrath 
is  a  living  thing  to  those  who  have  the  fear  of  God 
within  their  hearts." 

"Oh.  Well,  I'm  sorry,  but  I  really  can't  be  afraid 
of  God.  If  I  were,  I'd  doubt  Him,  Grismer.  .  .  . 
Come;  may  I  have  the  little  girl?" 

"Do  you  desire  her  to  abide  under  your  roof  after 
what  you  have  learned?" 

"Why,  Grismer,  I'd  travel  all  the  way  to  hell  to  get 
her  now,  if  any  of  your  creed  had  managed  to  send  her 
there.  Come;  I've  seen  the  child.  It  may  be  a  risk, 
as  you  say.  In  fact,  it  can't  help  being  a  risk,  Grismer. 
But — I  want  her.  May  I  have  her?" 

"M-m-m "  he  touched  a  bell  and  a  clerk  ap- 
peared. Then  he  turned  to  Cleland.  "Would  you  be 
good  enough  to  see  our  Mr.  Bunce?  /  thank  you. 
Good  afternoon !  I  am  happy  to  have  conversed  again 
with  my  old  friend,  John  Cleland, — m-m-m'yes,  my 
friend  of  many  years." 

An  hour  later  John  Cleland  left  "our"  Mr.  Bunce, 
armed  with  proper  authority  to  begin  necessary  legal 
proceedings. 

Talking  it  over  with  Brinton,  his  attorney,  that  even- 

42 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ing,  he  related  the  amazing  conversation  between  him- 
self and  Chiltern  Grismer. 

Brinton  laughed: 

"It  isn't  religious  bigotry;  it's  just  stinginess.  Gris- 
mer is  the  meanest  man  on  Manhattan  Island.  Didn't 
you  know  it?" 

"No.  I  don't  know  him  well — though  I've  been  ac- 
quainted with  him  for  a  long  while.  But  I  don't  see 
how  he  can  be  stingy." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  he's  interested  in  charity " 

"He's  paid  a  thumping  big  salary !  He  makes  money 
out  of  charity.  Why  shouldn't  he  be  interested  ?" 

"But  he  publishes  religious  books " 

"Of  course.  They  sell.  It's  a  great  graft,  Cleland. 
Don't  publish  novels  if  you  want  to  make  money ;  print 
Bibles !" 

"Is  that  a  fact?" 

"You  bet !  There  are  more  parasites  in  pulpit,  pub- 
lishing house  and  charity  concerns,  who  live  exclusively 
by  exploiting  God,  than  there  were  unpleasant  afflic- 
tions upon  the  epidermis  of  our  late  friend,  Job.  And 
Chiltern  Grismer  is  one  of  them — the  old  skinflint ! — 
hogging  his  only  sister's  share  of  the  Grismer  money 
and  scared  stiff  for  fear  some  descendant  might  reopen 
the  claim  and  fight  the  verdict  which  beggared  his  own 
sister !" 

"By  Gad !"  exclaimed  Cleland,  very  red ;  "I've  a  mind 
to  look  into  it  and  start  proceedings  again  if  there  is 
any  ground " 

"You  can't." 

"Why?" 

"Not  if  you  adopt  this  child." 

"Not  in  her  behalf?" 

43 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Your  motives  would  be  uncharitably  suspected, 
Cleland.  You  can  give  her  enough.  Besides,  you  don't 
want  to  stir  up  anything — rattle  any  skeletons — for 
this  little  girl's  sake." 

"No,  of  course  not.  You're  quite  right,  Brinton. 
No  money  could  compensate  her.  And,  as  you  say,  I 
am  able  to  provide  for  her  amply." 

"Besides,"  said  Brinton,  "there's  the  paternal  aunt, 
Miss  Rosalinda  Quest.  She's  as  rich  as  mud.  It  may 
be  that  she'll  do  something  for  the  child." 

"I  don't  want  her  to,"  exclaimed  Cleland  angrily. 
"If  she'll  make  no  objection  to  my  taking  the  girl,  she 
can  keep  her  money  and  leave  it  to  the  niggers  of  Sene- 
gambia  when  she  dies,  for  all  I  care!  Fix  it  for  me, 
Brinton." 

"You'd  better  go  down  to  Bayport  and  interview 
her  yourself,"  said  the  laywer.  "And,  by  the  way, 
I  hear  she's  a  queer  one — something  of  a  bird,  in 
fact." 

"Bird?" 

"Well,  a  vixen.  They  say  so.  All  the  same,  she's 
doing  a  lot  of  real  good  with  her  money." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"She's  established  a  sort  of  home  for  the  offspring 
of  vicious  and  degenerate  parents.  It's  really  quite 
a  wonderful  combination  of  clinic  and  training  school 
where  suspected  or  plainly  defective  children  are 
brought  to  be  taught  and  to  remain  under  observation 
— really  a  finely  conceived  charity,  I  understand.  Why 
not  call  on  her?" 

"Very  well,"  said  Cleland,  reluctantly,  not  caring 
very  much  about  encountering  "vixens"  and  "birds" 
of  the  female  persuasion. 

Except  for  this  paternal  aunt  and  the  Grismers, 

44 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


there  turned  out  to  be  no  living  human  being  related 
to  the  child  Stephanie. 

Once  assured  of  this,  John  Cleland  undertook  the 
journey  to  Bayport,  running  down  in  his  car  one  morn- 
ing, and  determined  that  a  combination  of  mild  dignity 
and  gallant  urbanity  should  conquer  any  untoward 
symptoms  which  this  "bird"  might  develop. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  entrance  to  the  place,  a 
nurse  on  duty  gave  him  proper  directions  how  to  find 
Miss  Quest,  who  was  out  about  the  grounds  some- 
where. 

He  found  her  at  last,  in  nurse's  garb,  marching  up 
and  down  the  gravel  paths  of  the  "Common  Sense 
Home  for  Defectives,"  as  the  institution  was  called. 

She  was  pruning  privet  hedges.  She  had  a  grim 
face,  a  belligerent  eye,  and  she  stood  clicking  her  prun- 
ing shears  aggressively  as  he  approached,  hat  in  hand. 

"Miss  Quest,  I  presume?"  he  inquired. 

"I'm  called  Sister  Rose,"  she  answered  shortly. 

*By  any  other  name "  began  Cleland,  gallantly, 

but  checked  himself,  silenced  by  the  hostility  in  her 
snapping  black  eyes. 

"What  do  you  wish?"  she  demanded  impatiently. 

Cleland,  very  red,  swallowed  his  irritation: 

"I  came  here  in  regard  to  your  niece " 

"Niece  ?    I  haven't  any !" 

"I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  mean  your  great-niece " 

"What  do  you  mean?    I  haven't  any  that  I  know  of." 

"Her  name  is  Stephanie  Quest." 

"Harry  Quest's  child?  Has  he  really  got  a  baby? 
I  thought  he  was  lying!  He's  such  a  liar — how  was  I 
to  know  that  he  has  a  baby?" 

"You  didn't  know  it,  then?" 

"No.     He  wrote  about  a  child.     Of  course,  I  sup- 

45 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


posed  he  was  lying.    That  was  before  I  went  abroad." 

"You've  been  abroad?" 

"I  have." 

"Long?" 

"Several  years." 

"How  long  since  you've  heard  from  Harry  Quest?" 

"Several  years — a  dozen,  maybe.  I  suppose  he's  liv- 
ing on  what  I  settled  on  him.  If  he  needed  money  I'd 
hear  from  him  soon  enough." 

"He  doesn't  need  money,  now.  He  doesn't  need  any- 
thing more  from  anybody.  But  his  little  daughter 
floes." 

"Is  Harry  dead?"  she  asked  sharply. 

"Very." 

"And — that  hussy  he  married " 

"Equally  defunct.    I  believe  it  was  suicide." 

"How  very  nasty !" 

"Or,"  continued  Cleland,  "it  may  have  been  suicide 
and  murder." 

"Nastier  still !"  She  turned  sharply  aside  and  stood 
clicking  her  shears  furiously.  After  a  silence:  "I'll 
take  the  baby,"  she  said  in  an  altered  voice. 

"She's  eleven  years  old." 

"I  forgot.  I'll  take  her  anyway.  She's  probably 
a  defective " 

"She  is  not!"  retorted  Cleland  so  sharply  that  Sister 
Rose  turned  on  him  in  astonishment. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "I  want  a  little  child  to  bring 
up.  I  have  chosen  this  one.  I  possess  a  comfortable 
fortune.  I  offer  to  bring  her  up  with  every  advantage, 
educate  her,  consider  her  as  my  own  child,  and  settle 
upon  her  for  life  a  sum  adequate  for  her  maintenance. 
I  have  the  leisure,  the  inclination,  the  means  to  do  these 
things.  But  you,  Madame,  are  too  busy  to  give  this 

46 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


child  the  intimate  personal  attention  that  all  children 
require " 

"How  do  you  know  I  am?" 

"Because  your  time  is  already  dedicated,  in  a  larger 
sense,  to  those  unhappy  children  who  need  you  more 
than  she  does. 

"Because  your  life  is  already  consecrated  to  this 
noble  charity  of  which  you  are  founder  and  director. 
A  world  of  unfortunates  is  dependent  on  you.  If, 
therefore,  I  offer  to  lighten  your  burden  by  relieving 
you  of  one  responsibility,  you  could  not  logically  de- 
cline or  disregard  my  appeal  to  your  reason "  His 

voice  altered  and  became  lower:  "And,  Madame,  I  al- 
ready love  the  child,  as  though  she  were  my  own." 

After  a  long  silence  Sister  Rose  said: 

"It  isn't  anything  you've  advanced  that  influences 
me.  It's  my — failure — with  Harry.  Do  you  think 
it  hasn't  cut  me  to  the — the  soul?"  she  demanded 
fiercely,  flinging  the  handful  of  clipped  twigs  onto  the 
gravel.  "Do  you  think  I  am  heartless  because  I  said 
his  end  was  a  nasty  one!  It  was!  Let  God  judge  me. 
I  did  my  best." 

Cleland  remained  silent. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  don't  care  what  you  think," 
she  added.  "What  concerns  me  is  that,  possibly — prob- 
ably, this  child  would  be  better  off  with  you.  .  .  . 
You're  the  John  Cleland,  I  presume." 

He  seemed  embarrassed. 

"You  collect  prints  and  things  ?" 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"Then  you  are  the  John  Cleland.  Why  not  say 
so?" 

He  bowed. 

"Very  well,  then !    What  you've  said  has  in  it  a  cer- 

47 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


tain  amount  of  common  sense.  I  have,  in  a  way,  dedi- 
cated my  life  to  all  unfortunate  children;  I  might  not 
be  able  to  do  justice  to  Harry's  child — give  her  the 
intimate  personal  care  necessary — without  impairing 
this  work  which  I  have  undertaken,  and  to  which  I  am 
devoting  my  fortune." 

There  was  another  silence,  during  which  Sister  Rose 
snapped  her  shears  viciously  and  incessantly.  Finally, 
she  looked  up  at  Cleland : 

"Does  the  child  care  for  you?" 

"I— think  so." 

"Very  well.    But  I  sha'n't  permit  you  to  adopt  her." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  may  want  her  myself  when  I'm  too  old  and  worn 
out  to  work  here.  I  wish  her  to  keep  her  name." 

"Madame " 

"I  insist.  What  did  you  say  her  name  is?  Steph- 
anie? Then  her  name  is  to  remain  Stephanie  Quest." 

"If  you  insist " 

"I  do !  And  that's  flat !  And  you  need  not  settle 
an  income  on  her " 

"I  shall  do  so,"  he  interrupted  firmly.  "I  have  ample 
means  to  provide  for  the  future  of  anybody  dependent 
on  me,  Madame." 

"Do  you  presume  to  dictate  to  me  what  I  shall  do 
concerning  my  own  will?"  she  demanded;  and  her  bel- 
ligerent eyes  fairly  snapped  at  him. 

"Do  what  you  like,  Madame,  but  it  isn't  necessary 
i_ »» 

"Don't  instruct  me,  Mr.  Cleland !" 

"Very  well,  Madame " 

"I  shall  do  as  I  always  have  done,  and  that  is  ex- 
actly as  I  please,"  she  said,  glancing  at  him.  "And  if 
I  choose  to  provide  for  the  child  in  my  will,  I  shall  do 

48 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


so  without  requesting  your  opinion.  Pray  understand 
me,  Mr.  Cleland.  If  I  let  you  have  her  it  is  only  be- 
cause I  am  self-distrustful.  I  failed  with  Harry  Quest. 
I  have  not  sufficient  confidence  in  myself  to  risk  failure 
with  his  daughter. 

"Let  the  matter  stand  this  way  until  I  can  consult 
my  attorney  and  investigate  the  entire  affair.  Take 
her  into  }Tour  home.  But  remember  that  she  is  to  bear 
her  own  name;  that  the  legal  guardianship  shall  be 
shared  by  you  and  me;  that  I  am  to  see  her  when  I 
choose,  take  her  when  I  choose.  .  .  .  Probably  I  shall 
not  choose  to  do  so.  All  the  same,  I  retain  my  liberty 
of  action." 

Cleland  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"It  would  be — heartless — if " 

"I'm  not  heartless,"  she  rejoined  tartly.  "There- 
fore, you  need  not  worry,  Mr.  Cleland.  If  you  love 
her  and  she  loves  you — I  tell  you  you  need  not  worry. 
All  I  desire  is  to  retain  my  liberty  of  action.  And  I 
intend  to  do  it.  And  that  settles  it !" 

Cleland  Senior  went  home  in  his  automobile. 

In  a  few  days  the  last  legal  objection  was  removed. 
There  were  no  other  relatives,  no  further  impediments ; 
merely  passionate  tejgirs  from  the  child  at  parting  with 
Schmidt ;  copious,  fat  tears  from  the  carpenter's  wife ; 
no  emotion  from  the  children;  none  from  the  canary 
bird. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  February  the  child  departed  from  the  Schmidts' 
in  charge  of  an  elderly,  indigent  gentlewoman,  rec- 
ommended to  Mr.  Cleland  at  an  exorbitant  salary. 

Mrs.  Westlake  was  her  name;  she  inhabited,  with  a 
mild  and  useless  husband,  the  ancient  family  mansion 
in  Pelham.  And  here  the  preliminary  grooming  of 
Stephanie  Quest  began  amid  a  riot  of  plain  living, 
lofty  thinking,  excision  of  double  negatives  acquired 
at  hazard,  and  a  hospital  regime  of  physical  scrub- 
bing. 

During  February  and  March  the  pitiless  process 
continued,  punctuated  by  blessed  daily  visits  from  Cle- 
land Senior,  laden  with  offerings,  edible  and  otherwise. 
And  before  April,  he  had  won  the  heart  of  Stephanie 
Quest. 

The  first  night  that  she  slept  under  Cleland's  roof, 
he  was  so  excited  that  he  sat  up  in  the  library  all  night, 
listening  for  fear  she  should  awake,  become  frightened, 
and  cry  out. 

She  slept  perfectly.  Old  Janet  had  volunteered  as 
nurse  and  wardrobe  mistress,  and  a  new  parlour-maid 
took  her  place.  Janet,  aged  sixty,  had  been  his  dead 
wife's  childhood  nurse,  his  son's  nurse  in  babyhood ; 
then  she  had  been  permitted  to  do  in  the  household 
whatever  she  chose ;  and  she  chose  to  dust  the  drawing- 
room,  potter  about  the  house,  and  offer  herself  tea  be- 
tween times. 

50 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Janet,  entering  the  library  at  six  in  the  morning, 
found  Mr.  Cleland  about  ready  to  retire  to  bed  after 
an  all-night  vigil. 

"What  do  you  think  of  what  I've  done — bringing 
this  child  here?"  he  demanded  bluntly,  having  lacked 
the  courage  to  ask  Janet's  opinion  before. 

Janet  could  neither  read  nor  write.  Her  thoughts 
were  slow  in  crystallizing.  For  a  few  moments  master 
and  ancient  servant  stood  confronted  there  in  the  dusk 
of  early  morning. 

"Maybe  it  was  God's  will,  sor,"  she  said  at  last,  in 
her  voice  which  age  had  made  a  little  rickety. 

"You  don't  approve?" 

"Ah,  then  Mr.  Cleland,  sor,  was  there  annything  you 
was  wishful  for  but  the  dear  Missis  approved?" 

That  answer  took  him  entirely  by  surprise.  He 
had  never  even  thought  of  looking  at  the  matter  from 
such  an  angle. 

And  after  Janet  went  away  into  the  dim  depths  of 
the  house,  he  remained  standing  there,  pondering  the 
old  Irishwoman's  answer. 

Suddenly  his  heart  grew  full  and  the  tears  were  salt 
in  his  throat — hot  and  wet  in  his  closed  eyes. 

"Not  that  memory  and  love  are  lessened,  dear,"  he 
explained  with  tremulous,  voiceless  lips,  " — but  you 
have  been  away  so  long,  and  here  on  earth  time  moves 
slowly  without  you — dearest — dearest " 

"Th*  divil's  in  that  young  wan,"  panted  Janet  out- 
side his  chamber  door.  "She  wo'n't  be  dressed!  She's 
turning  summersalts  on  her  bed,  God  help  her!" 

"Did  you  bathe  her?"  demanded  Cleland,  hurriedly 
buttoning  his  collar  and  taking  one  of  the  scarfs  of- 
fered by  old  Meacham. 

*'I  did,  sor — and  it  was  like  scrubbing  an  eel.     Not 

51 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


that  she  was  naughty,  sor — the  darlint ! — only  playful- 
like  and  contrayry — all  over  th'  tub,  under  wather  and 
atop,  and  pretindin'  the  soap  and  brush  was  fishes  and 
she  another  chasm'  them " 

"Janet!"  ( 

"Sorr?" 

"Has  she  had  her  breakfast?" 

"Two,  sorr." 

"What?" 

"Cereal  and  cream,  omelet  and  toast,  three  oranges 
and  a  pear,  and  a  pint  of  milk " 

"Good  heavens!    Do  you  want  to  kill  the  child?" 

"Arrah,  sorr,  she'll  never  be  kilt  with  feedin'!  It's 
natural  to  the  young,  sorr — and  she  leppin'  and  skip- 
pin*  and  turnin*  over  and  over  like  a  young  kid! — and 
how  I'm  to  dress  her  in  her  clothes  God  only 
knows " 

"Janet!  Stop  your  incessant  chatter!  Go  upstairs 
and  tell  Miss  Stephanie  that  I  want  her  to  dress  im- 
mediately." 

"I  will,  sorr." 

Cleland  looked  at  Meacham  and  the  little  faded  old 
man  looked  back  out  of  wise,  tragic  eyes  which  had 
seen  hell — would  see  it  again  more  than  once  before 
he  finished  with  the  world. 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  little  ward,  Meacham?" 

"It  is  better  not  to  think,  sir;  it  is  better  to  just 
believe." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  that,  sir.  If  we  really  think  we  can't  believe. 
It's  pleasanter  to  hope.  The  young  lady  is  very  pretty, 
sir." 

Cleland  Senior  always  wore  a  fresh  white  waist- 
coat, winter  and  summer,  and  a  white  carnation  in  his 

52 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


button-hole.     He  put  on  and  buttoned  the  one  while 
Meacham  adjusted  the  other. 

They  had  been  together  many  years,  these  two 
men.  Every  two  or  three  months  Meacham  locked  him- 
self in  his  room  and  drank  himself  stupid.  Sometimes 
he  remained  invisible  for  a  week,  sometimes  for  two 
weeks.  Years  ago  Cleland  had  given  up  hope  of  help- 
ing him.  Once,  assisted  by  hirelings,  he  had  taken 
Meacham  by  a  combination  of  strategy  and  force  to  a 
famous  institute  where  the  periodical  dipsomaniac  is 
cured  if  he  chooses  to  be. 

And  Meacham  emerged,  cured  to  that  extent ;  and  im- 
mediately proceeded  to  lock  himself  in  his  room  and 
lie  there  drunk  for  eighteen  days. 

Always  when  he  emerged,  ashy  grey,  blinking,  neat, 
and  his  little,  burnt-out  eyes  tragic  with  the  hell  they 
had  looked  upon,  John  Cleland  spoke  to  him  as  though 
nothing  had  happened  to  interrupt  the  routine  of  serv- 
ice. The  threads  were  picked  up  and  knotted  where 
they  had  been  broken ;  life  continued  in  its  accustomed 
order  under  the  Cleland  roof.  The  master  would  not 
abandon  the  man;  the  man  continued  to  fight  a  losing 
fight  until  beaten,  then  locked  himself  away  until  the 
enemy  gave  his  broken  body  and  broken  mind  a  few 
weeks'  respite.  Otherwise,  the  master's  faith  and  trust 
in  this  old-time  servant  was  infinite. 

"Meacham?" 

"Sir." 

"I  think — Mrs.  Cleland — would  have  approved. 
Janet  thinks  so." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  think  so,  too?" 

"Certainly,  sir.  Whatever  you  wished  was  madame's 
wish  also." 

53 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Master  James  is  so  much  away  these  days.  ...  I 
suppose  I  am  getting  old,  and " 

He  suffered  Meacham  to  invest  him  with  his  coat, 
lifted  the  lapel  and  sniffed  at  the  blossom  there,  squared 
his  broad  shoulders,  twisted  his  white  moustache. 

There  was  no  more  attractive  figure  on  Fifth  Avenue 
than  Cleland  Senior  with  the  bright  colour  in  his 
cheeks,  his  vigorous  stride  and  his  attire,  so  suitable 
to  his  fresh  skin,  sturdy  years  and  bearing. 

Meacham's  eyes  were  lifted  to  his  master,  now.  They 
were  of  the  same  age. 

"Will  you  wear  a  black  overcoat  or  a  grey,  sir?" 

"I  don't  care.  I'm  going  up  to  the  nursery  first. 
The  nursery,"  he  repeated,  with  a  secret  thrill  at  the 
word,  which  made  him  tingle  all  over  in  sheerest  hap- 
piness. 

"The  car,  sir?" 

"First,"  said  Cleland,  "I  must  find  out  what  Miss 
Stephanie  wishes — or  rather,  I  must  decide  what  I  wish 
her  to  do.  Telephone  the  garage,  anyway." 

There  was  a  silence;  Cleland  had  walked  a  step  or 
two  toward  the  door.  Now,  he  came  back. 

"Meacham,  I  hope  I  have  done  what  was  best.  On 
her  father's  side  there  was  good  blood;  on  her  moth- 
er's, physical  health.  ...  I  know  what  the  risk  is. 
But  character  is  born  in  the  cradle  and  lowered  into  the 
grave.  The  world  merely  develops,  modifies,  or  cripples 
it.  But  it  is  the  same  character.  .  .  .  I've  taken  the 
chance — the  tremendous  responsibility.  ...  It  isn't 
a  sudden  fancy — an  idle  caprice; — it  isn't  for  the 
amusement  of  making  a  fine  lady  out  of  a  Cinderella. 
I  want — a — baby,  Meacham.  I've  been  in  love  with  an 
imaginary  child  for  a  long,  long  time.  Now,  she's  be- 
come real.  That's  all." 

54 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"I  understand,  sir." 

"Yes,  you  do  understand.  So  I  ask  you  to  tell  me ; 
have  I  been  fair  to  Mr.  James?" 

"I  think  so,  sir." 

"Will  he  think  so?  I  have  not  told  him  of  this  af- 
fair." 

"Yes,  sir.  He  will  think  what  madame  would  have 
thought  of  anything  that  you  do."  He  added  under 
his  breath :  "As  we  all  think,  sir." 

There  was  a  pause,  broken  abruptly  by  the  sud- 
den quavering  appeal  of  Janet  at  the  door  once 
more : 

"Mr.  Cleland !  Th'  young  lady  is  all  over  the  house, 
sor!  In  her  pajaymis  and  naked  feet,  running  wild- 
like  and  ondacent " 

Cleland  stepped  to  the  door: 

"Where's  that  child?"     . 

"In  the  butler's  pantry,  sor " 

"I'm  up  here !"  came  a  clear  voice  from  the  landing 
above.  Cleland,  Janet  and  Meacham  raised  their 
heads. 

The  child,  in  her  pyjamas,  elbows  on  the  landing 
rail,  smiled  down  upon  them  through  her  thick  shock 
of  burnished  hair.  Her  lips  were  applied  to  an  orifice 
in  an  orange ;  her  slim  fingers  slowly  squeezed  the  fruit ; 
her  eyes  were  intently  fixed  on  the  three  people  below. 

When  Cleland  arrived  at  the  third  floor  landing, 
he  found  Stephanie  Quest  in  the  nursery,  cross-legged 
•n  her  bed.  As  he  entered,  she  wriggled  off,  and, 
in  rose-leaf  pyjamas  and  bare  feet,  dropped  him  the 
curtsey  which  she  had  been  taught  by  Mrs.  West- 
lake. 

But  long  since  she  had  taken  Cleland's  real  meas- 
ure; in  her  lovely  grey  eyes  a  thousand  tiny  devils 

55 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


danced.  He  held  out  his  arms  and  she  flung  her- 
self into  them. 

When  he  seated  himself  in  a  big  chintz  arm-chair, 
she  curled  up  on  his  knees,  one  arm  around  his  neck, 
the  other  still  clutching  her  orange. 

"Steve,  isn't  it  rather  nice  to  wake  up  in  bed  in  your 
own  room  under  your  own  roof?  Or,  of  course  if  you 
prefer  Mrs.  Westlake's " 

"I  don't.  I  don't "  She  kissed  him  impulsively 

on  his  freshly-shaven  cheek,  tightened  her  arm  around 
his  neck. 

"You  know  I  love  you,"  she  remarked,  applying  her 
lips  to  the  orange  and  squeezing  it  vigorously. 

"I  don't  believe  you  really  care  much  about  me, 
Steve." 

Her  grey  eyes  regarded  him  sideways  while  she 
sucked  the  orange;  contented  laughter  interrupted  the 
process;  then,  suddenly  both  arms  were  around  his 
neck,  and  her  bewitching  eyes  looked  into  his,  deep, 
very  deeply. 

"You  know  I  love  you,  Dad." 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Don't  you  really  know  it?" 

"Do  you,  really,  Steve?" 

There  wa,s  a  passionate  second  of  assurance,  a  slight 
sigh;  the  little  head  warm  on  his  shoulder,  vague-eyed, 
serious,  gazing  out  at  the  early  April  sunshine. 

"Tell  me  about  your  little  boy,  Dad,"  she  mur- 
mured presently. 

"You  know  he  isn't  very  little,  Steve.  He's  fourteen, 
nearly  fifteen." 

"I  forgot.  Goodness!"  she  said  softly  and  respect- 
fully. 

"He  seems  little  to  me,"  continued  Cleland,  "but  he 

56 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


wouldn't  like  to  be  thought  so.  Little  girls  don't  mind 
being  considered  youthful,  do  they?" 

"Yes,  they  do!    You  are  teasing  me,  Dad." 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  I  have  a  ready-made, 
grown-up  family,  and  no  little  child  to  comfort 
me?" 

With  a  charming  little  sound  in  her  throat  like  a 
young  bird,  she  snuggled  closer,  pressing  her  cheek 
against  his. 

"Tell  me,"  she  murmured. 

"About  what,  darling?" 

"About  your  lit — about  your  boy." 

She  never  tired  hearing  about  this  wonderful  son, 
and  Cleland  never  tired  of  telling  about  Jim,  so  they 
were  always  in  accord  on  that  subject. 

Often  Cleland  tried  to  read  in  the  gravely  youthful 
eyes  uplifted  to  his  the  dreamy  emotions  which  his  nar- 
rative evoked — curiosity,  awe,  shy  delight,  frank  hun- 
ger for  a  playmate,  doubt  that  this  wonder-boy  would 
condescend  to  notice  her,  wistfulness,  loneliness — the 
delicate  tragedy  of  solitary  souls. 

Always  her  gaze  troubled  him  a  little,  because  he  had 
not  yet  told  his  son  of  what  he  had  done — had  not, 
written  to  him  concerning  the  advent  of  this  little 
stranger.  He  had  thought  that  the  best  and  easiest 
way  was  to  tell  Jim  when  he  met  him  at  the  railroad 
station,  and,  without  giving  the  boy  time  to  think, 
brood  perhaps,  perhaps  worry,  let  him  see  little  Steph- 
anie face  to  face. 

It  seemed  the  best  way  to  John  Cleland.  But,  at 
moments,  lying  alone,  sleepless  in  the  night,  he  became 
horribly  afraid. 

It  was  about  that  time  that  he  received  a  letter  from 
Miss  Rosalinda  Quest: 

57 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


DEAR  MR.  CLELAND: 

Will  you  bring  the  child  out  to  Bayford,  or  shall  I  call  to 
see  her  when  business  takes  me  into  town? 
I  want  to  see  her,  so  take  your  choice. 
Yours  truly, 

ROSALINDA  QUEST. 

This  brusque  reminder  that  Stephanie  was  not  en- 
tirely his  upset  Cleland.  But  there  was  nothing  to  do 
about  it  except  to  write  the  lady  a  civil  invitation  to 
call. 

Which  she  did  one  morning  a  week  later.  She  wore 
battle-grey  tweeds  and  toque,  and  a  Krupp  steel  equip- 
ment of  reticule  and  umbrella ;  and  she  looked  the  fighter 
from  top  to  toe. 

When  Cleland  came  down  to  the  drawing-room  with 
Stephanie,  Miss  Quest  greeted  him  with  perfunctory 
civility  and  looked  upon  Stephanie  with  unfeigned 
amazement. 

"Is  that  my  niece?"  she  demanded.  And  Stephanie, 
who  had  been  warned  of  the  lady  and  of  the  relation- 
ship, dropped  her  curtsey  and  offered  her  slender  hand 
with  the  shy  but  affable  smile  instinctive  in  all  chil- 
dren. 

But  the  grey,  friendly  eyes  and  the  smile  did 
instantly  a  business  for  the  child  which  she  never  could 
have  foreseen ;  for  Miss  Quest  lost  her  colour  and  stood 
quite  dumb  and  rigid,  with  the  little  girl's  hand  grasped 
tightly  in  her  grey-gloved  fingers. 

Finally  she  found  her  voice — not  the  incisive,  com- 
bative, precise  voice  which  Cleland  knew — but  a  fem- 
inine and  uncertain  parody  on  it: 

"Do  you  know  who  I  am,  Stephanie?" 

"Yes,  ma'am.    You  are  my  Aunt  Rosalinda." 

Miss  Quest  took  the  seat  which  Cleland  offered  and 

58 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


sat  down,  drawing  the  child  to  her  knee.  She  looked 
at  her  for  a  long  while  without  speaking. 

Later,  when  Stephanie  had  been  given  her  conge,  in 
view  of  lessons  awaiting  her  in  the  nursery,  Miss  Quest 
said  to  Cleland,  as  she  was  going: 

"I'm  not  blind.  I  can  see  what  you  are  doing  for 
her — what  you  have  done.  The  child  adores  you." 

"I  love  her  exactly  as  though  she  were  my  own,"  he 
said,  flushing. 

"That's  plain  enough,  too.  .  .  .  Well,  I  shall  be 
just.  She  is  yours.  I  don't  suppose  there  ever  will  be 
a  corner  in  her  heart  for  me.  ...  I  could  love  her, 
too,  if  I  had  the  time." 

"Is  not  what  you  renounce  in  her  only  another 
sacrifice  to  the  noble  work  in  which  you  are  en- 
gaged?" 

"Rubbish !  I  like  my  work.  But  it  does  do  a  lot  of 
good.  And  it's  quite  true  that  I  can  not  do  it  and  give 
my  life  to  Stephanie  Quest.  And  so "  she  shrug- 
ged her  trim  shoulders — "I  can  scarcely  expect  the  child 
to  care  a  straw  for  me,  even  if  I  come  to  see  her  now 
and  then." 

Cleland  said  nothing.  Miss  Quest  marched  to  the 
door,  held  open  by  Meacham,  turned  to  Cleland: 

"Thank  God  you  got  her,"  she  said.  "I  failed  with 
Harry;  I  don't  deserve  her  and  I  dare  not  claim  re- 
sponsibility. But  I'll  see  that  she  inherits  what  I  pos- 
sess  " 

"Madame !  I  beg  you  will  not  occupy  yourself  with 
such  matters.  I  am  perfectly  able  to  provide  suf- 
ficiently—:  " 

"Good  Lord!  Are  you  trying  to  tell  me  again  how 
to  draw  my  will?"  she  demanded. 

"I  am  not.     I  am  simply  requesting  you  not  to  en- 

59 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


cumber  this  child  with  any  unnecessary  fortune.  There 
is  no  advantage  to  her  in  any  unwieldy  inheritance; 
there  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  very  real  and  alarming  dis- 
advantage." 

"I  shall  retain  my  liberty  to  think  as  I  please,  do  as 
I  please,  and  differ  from  you  as  often  as  I  please,"  she 
retorted  hotly. 

They  glared  upon  each  other  for  a  moment ;  Meach- 
am's  burnt-out  gaze  travelled  dumbly  from  one  to  the 
other. 

Suddenly  Miss  Quest  smiled  and  stretched  out  her 
hand  to  Cleland. 

"Thank  God,"  she  said  again,  "that  it  is  you  who 
have  the  child.  Teach  her  to  think  kindly  of  me,  if 
you  can.  I'll  come  sometimes  to  see  her — and  to  dis- 
agree with  you." 

Cleland,  bare-headed,  took  her  out  to  her  taxicab. 
She  smiled  at  him  when  it  departed. 


CHAPTER  V 

THERE  came  the  time  when  Easter  vacation  was 
to  be  reckoned  with.    Cleland  wrote  to  Jim  that 
he  had  a  surprise  for  him  and  that,  as  usual,  he 
would  be  at  the  station  to  meet  the  school  train. 

During  the  intervening  days,  at  moments  fear  be- 
came an  anguish.  He  began  to  realize  what  might  hap- 
pen, what  might  threaten  his  hitherto  perfect  under- 
standing with  his  only  son. 

He  need  not  have  worried. 

Driving  uptown  in  the  limousine  beside  his  son,  their 
hands  still  tightly  interlocked,  he  told  him  very  quietly 
what  he  had  done,  and  why.  The  boy,  astonished,  lis- 
tened in  silence  to  the  end.  Then  all  he  said  was : 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Father !" 

There  was  not  the  faintest  hint  of  resentment, 
no  emotion  at  all  except  a  perfectly  neutral  amaze- 
ment. 

"How  old  is  she?" 

"Eleven,  Jim." 

"Oh.    A  kid.     Does  she  cry  much?" 

"They  don't  cry  at  eleven,"  explained  his  father, 
laughing  in  his  relief.  "Fow  didn't  squall  when  you 
were  eleven." 

"No.    But  this  is  a  girl." 

"Don't  worry,  old  chap." 

"No.    Do  you  suppose  I'll  like  her?" 

"Of  course,  I  hope  you  will." 

61 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Well,  I  probably  sha'n't  notice  her  very  much,  be- 
ing rather  busy.  .  .  .  But  it's  funny.  ...  A  kid  in 
the  house!  ...  I  hope  she  won't  get  fresh." 

"Be  nice  to  her,  Jim." 

"Sure.  .  .  .     It's  funny,  though." 

"It  really  isn't  very  funny,  Jim.  The  little  thing  has 
been  dreadfully  unhappy  all  her  life  until  I  —  until  we 
stepped  in." 


"You  and  I,  Jim.    It's  our  job." 

After  a  silence  the  boy  said: 

"What  was  the  matter  with  hev?" 

"Starvation,  cruelty." 

The  boy's  incredulous  eyes  were  fastened  on  his 
father's. 

"Cold,  hunger,  loneliness,  neglect.  And  drunken 
parents  who  beat  her  so  mercilessly  that  once  they 
broke  two  of  her  ribs.  .  .  .  Don't  talk  about  it  to 
her,  Jim.  Let  the  child  forget  if  she  can." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  boy's  eyes  were  still  dilated  with  horror,  but  his 
features  were  set  and  very  still. 

"We've  got  to  look  out  for  her,  old  chap." 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy,  flushing. 

Cleland  Senior,  of  course,  expected  to  assist  at  the 
first  interview,  but  Stephanie  was  not  to  be  found. 

High  and  low  Janet  searched;  John  Cleland, 
troubled,  began  a  tour  of  the  house,  calling: 

"Steve!    Where  are  you?" 

Jim,  in  his  room,  unstrapping  his  suitcase,  felt 
rather  than  heard  somebody  behind  him;  and,  look- 
ing up  over  his  shoulder  saw  a  girl. 

She  was  a  trifle  pale  ;  dropped  him  a  curtsey  : 

"I'm  Steve,"  she  said  breathlessly. 

62 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Boy  and  girl  regarded  each  other  in  silence  for  a 
moment ;  then  Jim  offered  his  hand  : 

"How  do  you  do  ?"  he  said,  calmly. 

"I — I'm  very  well.    I  hope  you  are,  too." 

Another  pause,  during  a  most  intent  mutual  inspec- 
tion. 

"My  tennis  bat,"  explained  Jim,  with  polite  con- 
descension, "needs  to  be  re-strung.  That's  why  I 
brought  it  down  from  school.  .  .  .  Do  you  play  ten- 
nis?" 

"No." 

Cleland  Senior,  on  the  floor  below,  heard  the  young 
voices  mingling  above  him,  listened,  then  quietly  with- 
drew to  the  library  to  await  events. 

Janet  looked  in  later. 

"Do  they  like  each  other  ?"  he  asked  in  a  low,  anxious 
voice. 

"Mr.  Cleland,  sor,  Miss  Steve  is  on  the  floor  listenin' 
to  that  blessed  boy  read  thim  pieces  he  has  wrote  in  the 
school  paper !  Like  two  lambs  they  do  be  together,  sor, 
and  the  fine  little  gentleman  and  little  lady  they  are, 
God  be  blessed  this  April  day !" 

After  a  while  he  went  upstairs,  cautiously,  the  soft 
carpet  muffling  his  tread. 

Jim,  seated  on  the  side  of  his  bed,  was  being  wor- 
shipped, permitting  it,  accepting  it.  Stephanie,  cross- 
logged  on  the  floor,  adored  him  with  awed,  uplifted  gazet 
her  clasped  hands  lying  in  her  lap. 

"To  be  a  writer,"  Jim  condescended  to  explain,  "a 
man  has  got  to  work  like  the  dickens,  study  everything 
you  ever  heard  of,  go  out  and  have  adventures,  notice 
'hing  that  people  say  and  do,  how  they  act  and 
walk  and  talk.  It's  a  very  interesting  profession, 
Steve.  .  .  .  What  are  you  going  to  be?" 

63 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"I  don't  know,"  she  whispered,  " — nothing,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"Don't  you  want  to  be  something?  Don't  you  want 
to  be  celebrated?" 

She  thought,  hesitatingly,  that  it  would  be  pleasant 
to  be  celebrated. 

"Then  you'd  better  think  up  something  to  do  to 
make  the  world  notice  you." 

"I  shouldn't  know  what  to  do." 

"Father  says  that  the  thing  you'd  rather  do  to 
amuse  yourself  is  the  proper  profession  to  take  up. 
What  do  you  like  to  do?" 

"Ought  I  to  try  to  write,  as  you  do?" 

"You  mustn't  ask  me.  Just  think  what  you'd  rather 
do  than  anything  else." 

The  girl  thought  hard,  her  eyes  fixed  on  him,  her 
brows  slightly  knitted  with  the  effort  at  concentra- 
tion. 

"I — I'd  honestly  really  rather  just  be  with  dad — 
and  you " 

The  boy  laughed: 

"I  don't  mean  that !" 

"No,  I  know.  But  I  can't  think  of  anything.  .  .  . 
Perhaps  I  could  learn  to  act  in  a  play — or  do  beautiful 

dances,  or  draw  pictures ?"  her  voice  continuing 

in  the  rising  inflection  of  inquiry. 

"Do  you  like  to  draw  and  dance  and  act  in  private 
theatricals  ?" 

"Oh,  I  never  acted  in  a  play  or  danced  folk-dances, 
except  in  school.  And  I  never  had  things  of  my  own 
to  make  pictures  with — except  once  I  had  a  piece 
of  blue  chalk  and  I  made  pictures  on  the  wall  in  the 
hall." 

"What  hall?" 

64 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"It  was  a  very  dirty  hall.  I  was  punished  for  making 
pictures  on  the  wall." 

"Oh,"  said  the  boy,  soberly. 

After  a  moment  the  boy  jumped  up: 

"I'm  hungry.  I  believe  luncheon  is  nearly  ready. 
Come  on,  Steve !" 

The  child  could  scarcely  speak  from  pride  and  hap- 
piness when  the  boy  condescended  to  take  her  hand 
and  lead  her  out  of  that  enchanted  place  into  the  magic 
deeps  below. 

At  nine-thirty  that  evening  Stephanie  made  the  curt- 
sey which  had  been  taught  her,  to  Cleland  Senior,  and 
was  about  to  repeat  the  process  to  Cleland  Junior, 
when  the  latter  laughed  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good  night,  Steve,"  he  said  reassuringhr.  "You've 
got  to  be  a  regular  girl  with  me." 

She  took  his  hand,  held  it,  drew  closer.  To  his  con- 
sternation, he  realized  that  she  was  expecting  to  kiss 
him,  and  he  hastily  wrung  her  hand  and  sat  down. 

The  child's  face  flushed ;  she  turned  to  Cleland  Senior 
for  the  kiss  to  which  he  had  accustomed  her.  "Her  lips 
were  quivering,  and  the  older  man  understood. 

"Good  night,  darling,"  he  said,  drawing  her  close 
into  his  arms,  and  whispered  in  her  ear  gaily:  "You've 
scared  him,  Steve.  He's  only  a  boy,  you  know." 

Her  head,  buried  against  his  shoulder,  concealed  the 
starting  tears. 

"You've  scared  him,"  repeated  Cleland  Senior.  "All 
boys  are  shy  about  girls." 

Suddenly  it  struck  her  as  funny ;  she  smiled ;  the  tears 
dried  in  her  eyes.  She  twisted  around,  and,  placing  her 
lips  against  the  elder  man's  ear,  she  whispered : 

"I'm  afraid  of  him,  but  I  do  like  him !" 

"He  likes  you,  but  he's  a  little  afraid  of  you  yet." 

65 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


That  appealed  to  her  once  more  as  exquisitely  funny. 
She  giggled,  snuggled  closer,  observed  by  Jim  with  em- 
barrassment and  boredom.  But  he  was  too  polite  to 
betray  it. 

Stephanie,  with  one  arm  around  Cleland's  neck, 
squeezed  herself  tightly  against  him  and  recounted  in 
a  breathless  whisper  her  impressions  of  his  only  son: 

"I  do  like  him  so  much,  Dad !  He  talked  to  me  up- 
stairs about  his  school  and  all  the  boys  there.  He  was 
very  kind  to  me.  Do  you  think  I'm  too  little  for  him  to 
like  me?  I'm  growing  rather  fast,  you  know.  I'd  do 
anything  for  him,  anything.  I  wish  you'd  tell  him  that. 
Will  you?" 

"Yes,  I  will,  dear.     Now,  run  upstairs  to  Janet." 

"Shall  I  say  good  night  to  Jim  again?" 

"If  you  like.  But  don't  kiss  him,  or  you'll  scare 
him."  * 

They  both  had  a  confidential  and  silent  fit  of  laugh- 
ter over  this ;  then  the  child  slid  from  his  knees,  dropped 
a  hasty,  confused  curtsey  in  Jim's  direction,  turned 
and  scampered  upstairs.  And  a  gale  of  laughter  came 
floating  out  of  the  nursery,  silenced  as  Janet  shut  the 
door. 

The  subdued  glow  of  a  lamp  fell  over  father  and  son ; 
undulating  strata  of  smoke  drifted  between  them  from 
the  elder  man's  cigar. 

"Well,  Jim?" 

"Yes,  Father." 

"Do  you  like  her?" 

"She's  a — funny  girl.  .  .  .  Yes,  she's  a  rather  nice 
little  kid." 

"We'll  stand  by  her,  won't  we,  Jim  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Make  up  to  her  the  lost  days — the  cruellest  injus- 

66 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


tice  that  can  be  inflicted — the  loss  of  a  happy  child- 
hood." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"All  right,  old  chap.  Now,  tell  me  all  about  your- 
self and  what  has  happened  since  you  wrote." 

"I  had  a  fight." 

"With  whom,  Jim?" 

"With  Oswald  Grismer,  of  the  first  form." 

"What  did  he  do  to  you?"  inquired  his  father. 

"He  said  something — about  a  girl." 

"What  girl?" 

"I  don't  know  her." 

"Go  on." 

"Nothing.  .  .  .  Except  I  told  him  what  I  thought 
of  him." 

"For  what?  For  speaking  disrespectfully  about  a 
girl  you  never  met?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Oh.    Goon." 

"Nothing  more,  sir.  .  .  .  Except  that  we  mixed 
it." 

"I  see.     Did  you — hold  your  own?" 

"They  said— I  think  I  did,  sir." 

"Grismer  is — your  age?     Younger?     Older?" 

"Yes,  sir,  older." 

"How  do  you  and  he  weigh  in?" 

"He's — I  believe — somewhat  heavier." 

"First  form  boy.  Naturally.  Well,  did  you  shake 
hands?" 

"No,  sir." 

"That's  bad,  Jim." 

"I  know  it.     I — somehow — couldn'i." 

"Do  it  next  term.  No  use  to  fight  unless  to  settle 
things." 

67 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


The  boy  remained  silent,  and  his  father  did  not  press 
the  matter. 

"What  shall  we  do  to-morrow,  Jim?"  inquired  Cle- 
land  Senior,  after  a  long  pause. 

"Do  you  mean  just  you  and  me,  Father?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Steve  will  be  busy  with  her  lessons.  And, 
in  the  evening,  nine-thirty  is  her  bedtime." 

The  boy  said,  with  a  sigh  of  unconscious  relief : 

"I  need  a  lot  of  things.  We'll  go  to  the  shops  first. 
Then  we'll  lunch  together,  then  we  can  take  in  a  movie, 
then  we'll  dine  all  by  ourselves,  and  then  go  to  the 
theatre.  What  do  you  say,  Father  ?" 

"Fine !"  said  his  father,  with  the  happy  thrill  which 
comes  to  fathers  whose  growing  sons  still  prefer  their 
company  to  the  company  of  anybody  else. 


CHAPTER  VI 

TO    Cleland    Senior   it   seemed   as   though   Jim's 
Easter    vacation    ended    before    it    had    fairly 
begun ;   so   swiftly   sped   the   blessed  days   to- 
gether. 

Already  the  morning  of  his  son's  departure  for 
school  had  dawned,  and  he  realized  it  with  the  same 
mental  sinking,  the  same  secret  dismay  and  painful  in- 
credulity which  he  always  experienced  when  the  dreaded 
moment  for  parting  actually  arrived. 

As  usual,  he  prepared  to  accompany  his  son  to  the 
railway  station.  It  happened  not  to  occur  to  him  that 
Stephanie  might  desire  to  go. 

At  breakfast,  his  son  sat  opposite  as  usual,  Stephanie 
on  his  right,  very  quiet,  and  keeping  her  grey  eyes  on 
her  plate  so  persistently  that  the  father  finally  noticed 
her  subdued  demeanour,  and  kept  an  eye  on  her  until  in 
her  momentarily  lifted  face  he  detected  the  sensitive, 
forced  smile  of  a  child  close  to  tears. 

All  the  resolute  composure  she  could  summon  did  not 
conceal  from  him  the  tragedy  of  a  child  who  is  about 
to  lose  its  hero  and  who  feels  itself  left  out — excluded, 
as  it  were,  from  the  last  sad  rites. 

He  was  touched,  conscience  stricken,  and  yet  almost 
inclined  to  smile.  He  said  casually,  as  they  rose  from 
the  table: 

"Steve,  dear,  tell  Janet  to  make  you  ready  at  once, 
if  you  are  going  to  see  Jim  off." 

69 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Am — / — going!"  faltered  the  child,  flushing  and 
tremulous  with  surprise  and  happiness. 

"Why,  of  course.  Run  quickly  to  Janet,  now." 
And,  to  his  son,  when  the  eager  little  flying  feet  had 
sped  out  of  sight  and  hearing:  "Steve  felt  left  out, 
Jim.  Do  you  understand,  dear?" 

"Y-yes,  Father." 

"Also,  she  is  inclined  to  take  your  departure  very 
seriously.  You  do  understand,  don't  you,  my  dear 
son?" 

The  boy  said  that  he  did,  vaguely  disappointed  that 
he  was  not  to  have  the  last  moments  alone  with  his 
father. 

So  they  all  went  down  town  together  in  the  car,  and 
there  were  other  boys  there  with  parents ;  and  some 
recognitions  among  the  other  people;  desultory,  per- 
functory conversations,  cohesion  among  the  school  boys 
welcoming  one  another  with  ardour  and  strenuous  cor- 
diality after  only  ten  days'  separation. 

Chiltern  Grismer,  father  of  Oswald,  came  over  and 
spoke  to  Cleland  Senior: 

"Our  respective  sons,  it  appears,  so  far  forgot  their 
Christian  principles  as  to  indulge  in  a  personal  en- 
counter in  school,"  he  said  in  a  pained  voice.  "Hadn't 
they  better  shake  hands,  Cleland?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  John  Cleland.  "If  a  fight 
idoesn't  clean  off  the  slate,  there's  something  very  wrong 
somewhere  .  .  .  Jim?" 

Cleland  Junior  left  the  group  of  gossiping  boys; 
young  Grismer,  also,  at  his  father's  summons,  came 
sauntering  nonchalantly  over  from  another  group. 

"Make  it  up  with  young  Cleland !"  said  Chiltern  Gris- 
mer, tersely.  "Mr.  Cleland  and  I  are  friends  of  many 
years.  Let  there  be  no  dissension  between  our  sons." 

70 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Offer  your  hand,  .Jim,"  added  Cleland  Senior.  "A 
punch  in  the  nose  settles  a  multitude  of  sins ;  doesn't  it, 
Grismer  ?" 

The  ceremony  was  effected  reluctantly,  and  in  any- 
thing but  a  cordial  manner.  Stephanie,  looking  on, 
perplexed,  caught  37oung  Grismer's  amber-coloured  eyes 
fixed  on  her;  saw  the  tall,  sandy-haired  boy  turn  to 
look  at  her  as  he  moved  away  to  rejoin  his  particular 
group;  saw  the  colour  rising  in  his  mischievous  face 
when  she  surprised  him  peeping  at  her  again  over  an- 
other boy's  shoulder. 

Several  times,  before  the  train  left,  the  little  girl  be- 
came conscious  that  this  overgrown,  sandy-haired  boy 
was  watching  her,  sometimes  with  frankly  flattering  ad- 
miration, sometimes  furtively,  as  though  in  sly  curi- 
osity. 

"Who  is  that  kid?"  she  distinctly  heard  him  say  to 
another  boy.  She  calmly  turned  her  back. 

And  was  presently  aware  of  the  elder  Grismer's  ex- 
pressionless gaze  concentrated  upon  herself. 

"Is  this  the  little  girl?"  he  said  to  Cleland  Senior  in 
his  hard,  dry  voice. 

"That  is  my  little  daughter,  Stephanie,"  replied  Cle- 
land coldly,  discouraging  any  possible  advances  on 
Grismer's  part.  For  there  would  never  be  any  reason 
for  bringing  Stephanie  in  contact  with  the  Grismers ; 
and  there  might  be  reasons  for  keeping  her  ignorant  of 
their  existence.  Which  ought  to  be  a  simple  matter, 
because  he  never  saw  Grismer,  except  when  he  chanced 
to  encounter  him  quite  casually  here  and  there  in  town. 

"She's  older  than  I  supposed,"  remarked  Grismer, 
staring  steadily  at  her,  where  she  stood  beside  Jim, 
shyly  conversing  with  a  group  of  his  particular  cronies. 
Boy-like,  they  all  were  bragging  noisily  for  her  exclus- 

71 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ive  benefit,  talking  school-talk,  and  swaggering  and 
showing  off  quite  harmlessly  as  is  the  nature  of  the 
animal  at  that  age. 

"I  don't  observe  any   family   resemblance,"  mused 
Grismer,  pursing  his  slit-like  lips. 
"No?"  inquired  Cleland  drily. 

"No,  none  whatever.  Of  course,  the  connection  is 
remote — m-m-m'yes,  quite  remote.  I  trust,"  he  added 
magnanimously,  "that  you  will  be  able  to  render  her 
life  comfortable  and  pleasant ;  and  that  the  stipend  you 
purpose  to  bestow  upon  her  may,  if  wisely  administered, 
keep  her  from  want." 

Cleland,  who  was  getting  madder  every  moment, 
turned  very  red  now. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  managing  to  control  his  temper, 
"that  it  will  scarcely  be  a  question  of  want  with  Steph- 
anie Quest.     What  troubles  me  a  little  is  that  she's 
more  than  likely  to  be  an  heiress." 
"What!" 

"It  looks  that  way." 
"Do  you — do  you  mean,  Cleland,  that — that  any 

legal  steps  to  re-open " 

"Good  Lord,  no !"  exclaimed  Grismer,  contemptu- 
ously. "She  wouldn't  touch  a  penny  of  Grismer  money 
— not  a  penny !  I  wouldn't  lift  a  finger  to  stir  up  that 
mess  again,  even  if  it  meant  a  million  for  her!" 

Grismer  breathed  more  easily,  though  Cleland's  frank 
and  unconcealed  scorn  left  a  slight  red  on  his  parch- 
ment-like skin. 

"Our  conception  of  moral  and  spiritual  responsi- 
bility differs,  I  fear,"  he  said,  " — as  widely  as  our 
creeds  differ.  I  regret  that  my  friend  of  many  years 
should  appear  to  be  a  trifle  biassed — m-m-m'yes,  a  trifle 
biassed  in  his  opinion " 

72 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"It's  none  of  my  affair,  Grismer.  We're  different, 
that's  all.  You  had,  perhaps,  a  legal  right  to  your  un- 
happy sister's  share  of  the  Grismer  inheritance.  You 
exercised  it;  I  should  not  have  done  so.  It's  a  matter 
of  conscience — to  put  it  pleasantly." 

"It  is  a  matter  of  creed,"  said  Grismer  grimly.  "It 
was  God's  will." 

Cleland  shrugged. 

"Let  it  go  at  that.  Anyway,  you  needn't  worry  over 
any  possible  action  that  might  be  brought  against  you 
or  your  heirs.  There  won't  be  any.  What  I  meant 
was  that  the  child's  aunt,  Miss  Rosalinda  Quest,  seems 
determined  to  leave  little  Stephanie  a  great  deal  more 
money  than  is  good  for  anybody.  It  isn't  necessary. 
I  don't  believe  in  fortunes.  I'm  wary  of  them,  afraid 
of  them.  They  change  people — often  change  their  very 
natures.  I've  seen  it  too  many  times — observed  the  un- 
desirable change  in  people  who  were  quite  all  right 
before  they  came  into  fortunes.  No ;  I  am  able  to  pro- 
vide for  her  amply ;  I  have  done  so.  That  ought  to  te 
enough." 

Grismer's  dry,  thin  lips  remained  parted ;  he  scarcely 
breathed;  and  his  remarkable  eyes  continued  to  bore 
into  Cleland  with  an  intensity  almost  savage. 

Finally  he  said,  in  a  voice  so  dry  that  it  seemed  to 
crackle  : 

"This  is — amazing.  I  understood  that  the  family 
had  cast  out  and  utterly  disowned  the  family  of  Harry 
Quest — m-m-m'yes,  turned  him  out  completely — him 
and  his.  So  you  will  pardon  my  surprise,  Cleland.  .  .  . 
Is — ah — the  Quest  fortune — as  it  were — consider- 
able?" 

"Several  millions,  I  believe,"  replied  Cleland  care- 
lessly, moving  away  to  rejoin  his  son  and  Stephanie, 

73 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


where  they  stood  amid  the  noisy,  laughing  knot  of 
school-boys. 

Grismer  looked  after  him,  and  his  face,  which  had 
become  drawn,  grew  almost  ghastly.  So  this  was  it ! 
Cleland  had  fooled  him.  Cleland,  with  previous  knowl- 
edge of  what  this  aunt  was  going  to  do  for  the  child, 
had  cunningly  selected  her  for  adoption — doubtless  de- 
signed her,  ultimately,  for  his  son.  Cleland  had  known 
this ;  had  kept  the  knowledge  from  him.  And  that  was 
the  reason  for  all  this  philanthropy.  Presently  he  sum- 
moned his  son,  Oswald,  with  a  fierce  gesture  of  his 
hooked  forefinger. 

The  boy  detached  himself  leisurely  from  his  group 
of  school-fellows  and  strolled  up  to  his  father. 

"Don't  quarrel  with  young  Cleland  again.  Do  you 
hear?"  he  said  harshly. 

"Well,  I " 

"Do  you  hear? — you  little  fool !" 

"Yes,  sir,  but " 

"Be  silent  and  obey!  Do  as  I  order  you.  Seek  his 
friendship.  And,  if  opportunity  offers,  become  friends 
with  that  little  girl.  If  you  don't  do  as  I  say,  I'll 
cut  your  allowance.  Understand  me,  I  want  you  to  be 
good  friends  with  that  little  girl!" 

Oswald  cast  a  mischievous  but  receptive  glance  to- 
ward Stephanie. 

"I'll  sure  be  friends  with  her,  if  I  have  a  show,"  he 
said.  "She's  easily  the  prettiest  kid  I  ever  saw.  But 
Jim  doesn't  seem  very  anxious  to  introduce  me.  Maybe 

next  term "  He  shrugged,  but  regarded  Stephanie 

with  wistful  golden  eyes. 

After  the  gates  were  opened,  and  when  at  last  the 
school  boys  had  departed  and  the  train  was  gone, 
Stephanie  remained  tragically  preoccupied  with  her 

74 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


personal  loss  in  the  departure  of  Cleland  Junior.  For 
he  was  the  first  boy  she  had  ever  known ;  and  she  wor- 
shipped him  with  all  the  long-pent  ardour  of  a  lonely 
heart. 

Memory  of  the  sandy  youth  with  golden  eyes  con- 
tinued in  abeyance,  although  he  had  impressed  her.  It 
had,  in  fact,  been  a  new  experience  for  her  to  be  no- 
ticed by  an  older  boy;  and,  although  she  considered 
young  Grismer  homely  and  a  trifle  insolent,  there  re- 
mained in  her  embryonic  feminine  consciousness  the 
grateful  aroma  of  incense  swung  before  her — incense 
not  acceptable,  but  still  unmistakably  incense — the  sub- 
tle flattery  of  man. 

As  for  young  Grismer,  reconciliation  between  him 
and  Jim  having  been  as  pleasantly  effected  as  the 
forcible  feeding  of  a  jailed  lady  on  a  hunger  strike, 
he  sauntered  up  to  Cleland  Junior  in  the  car  reserved 
for  Saint  James  School,  and  said  amiably : 

"Who  was  the  little  peach  you  kissed  good-bye, 
Jim?" 

The  boy's  clear  brown  eyes  narrowed  just  a  trifle. 

"She's — my — sister,"  he  drawled.  "What  about 
it?" 

"She's  so  pretty — for  a  kid — that's  all." 

Jim,  eyeing  him  menacingly,  replied  in  the  horrid 
vernacular : 

"That's  no  sty  on  your  eye,  is  it?" 

"F'r  heaven's  sake!"  protested  Grismer.  "Are  you 
still  carrying  that  old  chip  on  your  shoulder?  I 
thought  it  was  all  squared." 

Jim  considered  him  for  a  few  moments. 

"All  right,"  he  said;  "it's  squared,  Oswald.  .  .  . 
Only,  somehow  I  can't  get  over  feeling  that  there  are 
some  more  fights  ahead  of  us.  ...  Have  a  caramel?" 

75 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Chiltern  Grismer  joined  Cleland  Senior  on  the  way 
to  the  street,  and  they  strolled  together  toward  the 
station  entrance.  Stephanie  walked  in  silence  beside 
Cleland,  holding  rather  tightly  to  his  arm,  not  even 
noticing  Grismer,  and  quite  overwhelmed  by  her  own  be- 
reavement. 

Grismer  murmured  in  his  dry,  guarded  voice: 

"She's  pretty  enough  and  nicely  enough  behaved  to 
be  your  own  daughter." 

Cleland  nodded;  a  deeper  flush  of  annoyance  spread 
over  his  handsome,  sanguine  face.  He  resented  it  when 
people  did  not  take  Stephanie  for  his  own  flesh  and 
blood;  and  it  even  annoyed  him  that  Grismer  should 
mention  a  matter  upon  which  he  had  become  oddly  sen- 
sitive. 

"I  hope  you  won't  ever  be  sorry,  Cleland,"  remarked 
the  other  in  his  dry,  metallic  voice.  "Yes,  indeed, 
I  hope  you  won't  regret  your  philanthropic  ven- 
ture." 

"I  am  very  happy  in  my  little  daughter,"  replied 
Cleland  quietly. 

"She's  turning  out  quite  satisfactory?" 

"Of  course!"  snapped  the  other. 

"M-m-m!"  mused  Grismer  between  thin,  dry  Kps. 
"It's  rather  too  early  to  be  sure,  Cleland.  You  never 
can  tell  what  traits  are  going  to  reveal  themselves  in 
the  young.  There's  no  knowing  what  may  crop  out  in 
them.  No — no  telling;  no  telling.  Of  course,  some- 
times they  turn  out  well.  M-m-m'yes,  quite  well. 
That's  our  experience  in  the  Charities  Association. 
But,  more  often,  they — don't! — to  be  perfectly  frank 
with  you — they  don't  turn  out  very  well." 

Cleland's  features  had  grown  alarmingly  red. 

"I'm  not  apprehensive,"  he  managed  to  say. 

76 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Oh,  no,  of  course,  it's  no  use  worrying.  Time  will 
show.  M-m-m!  Yes.  It  will  all  be  made  manifest  in 
time.  M-m-m'yes !  Time'll  show,  Cleland — time'll 
show.  But — I  knew  my  sister,"  he  added  sadly,  "and 
I  am  afraid — very  much  afraid." 

At  the  entrance  for  motors  they  parted.  Grismer 
got  into  a  shabby  limousine  driven  by  an  unkempt  chauf- 
feur. 

"Going  my  way,  Cleland?" 

"Thanks,  I  have  my  car." 

"In  that  case,"  returned  Grismer,  "I  shall  take  my 
leave  of  you.  Good-bye,  and  God  be  with  you,"  he 
said  piously.  "And  good-bye  to  you,  my  pretty  little 
miss,"  he  added  graciously,  distorting  his  parchment 
features  into  something  resembling  a  smile.  "Tell  your 
papa  to  bring  you  to  see  me  sometime  when  my  boy  is 
home  from  school;  and,"  he  added  rather  vaguely, 
"we'll  have  a  nice  time  and  play  games  Good- 
bye!" 

"Who  was  that  man,  Daddy?"  asked  Stephanie,  as 
their  own  smart  little  car  drew  up. 

"Oh,  nobody — just  a  man  with  whom  I  have  a — a 
sort  of  acquaintance,"  replied  Cleland. 

"Was  that  his  boy  who  kept  looking  at  me  all  the 
while  in  the  station,  Daddy?" 

"I  didn't  notice.    Come,  dear,  jump  in." 

So  he  took  Stephanie  back  to  the  house  where  in- 
struction in  the  three  R's  awaited  her,  with  various 
extras  and  embellishments  suitable  for  the  education 
of  the  daughter  of  John  William  Cleland. 

The  child  crept  up  close  to  him  in  the  car,  holding 
tightly  to  his  arm  with  both  of  hers. 

"I'm  lonely  for  Jim,"  she  whispered.     "I "  but 

speech  left  her  suddenly  in  the  lurch. 

77 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"You're  going  to  make  me  proud  of  you,  darling; 
aren't  you?"  he  murmured,  looking  down  at  her. 

The  child  merely  nodded.  Grief  for  the  going  of  her 
first  boy  had  now  left  her  utterly  dumb. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THERE  is  a  serio-comic,  yet  charming,  sort  of 
tragedy — fortunately  only  temporary — in  the 
attachment  of  a  little  girl  for  an  older  boy.  It 
often  bores  him  so ;  and  she  is  so  daintily  in  earnest. 

The  one  adores,  tags  after,  and  often  annoys ;  the 
other,  if  chivalrous,  submits. 

It  began  this  way  between  Stephanie  Quest  and  Jim 
Cleland.  It  continued.  She  realized  with  awe  the  dis- 
crepancy in  their  ages ;  he  was  amiable  enough  to  pre- 
tend to  waive  the  discrepancy.  And  his  condescension 
almost  killed  her. 

The  poor  child  grew  older  as  fast  as  she  possibly 
could ;  resolute,  determined  to  overtake  him  somewhere, 
if  that  could  be  done.  For  in  spite  of  arithmetic  she 
seemed  to  know  that  it  was  possible.  Moreover,  it  was 
wholly  characteristic  of  her  to  attack  with  pathetic 
confidence  the  impossible — to  lead  herself  as  a  forlorn 
hope  and  with  cheerful  and  reckless  resolution  into  the 
most  hopeless  impasse. 

Cleland  Senior  began  to  notice  this  trait  in  her — 
began  to  wonder  whether  it  was  an  admirable  trait  or 
a  light-headed  one. 

Once,  an  imbecile  canary,  purchased  by  him  for  her, 
and  passionately  cherished,  got  out  of  its  open  cage,  out 
of  the  open  nursery  window,  and  perched  on  a  cornice 
over  one  of  the  windows.  And  out  of  the  window 
climbed  Stephanie,  never  hesitating,  disregarding  con- 

79 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


sequences,  clinging  like  a  desperate  kitten  to  sill  and 
blind,  negotiating  precarious  ledges  with  steady  feet; 
and  the  flag-stones  of  the  area  four  stories  below  her, 
and  spikes  on  the  iron  railing. 

A  neighbour  opposite  fainted ;  another  shouted  inco- 
herently. It  became  a  hair-raising  situation ;  she  could 
neither  advance  nor  retreat.  The  desperate,  Irish  keen- 
ing of  Janet  brought  Meacham ;  Meacham,  at  the  tele- 
phone, notified  the  nearest  police  station,  and  a  section 
of  the  Fire  Department.  The  latter  arrived  with  ex- 
tension ladders. 

It  was  only  when  pushed  violently  bed-ward,  as  pun- 
ishment, that  the  child  realized  there  had  been  anything 
to  be  frightened  about.  Then  she  became  scared;  and 
was  tearfully  glad  to  see  Cleland  when  he  came  in  that 
evening  from  a  print-hunting  expedition. 

And  once,  promenading  on  Fifth  Avenue  with  Janet, 
for  the  sake  of  her  health — such  being  the  regime  estab- 
lished— she  separated  two  violently  fighting  school-boys, 
slapped  the  large  one,  who  had  done  the  bullying, 
soundly,  cuffed  another,  who  had  been  enjoying  the  un- 
equal combat,  fell  upon  a  fourth,  and  was  finally  hustled 
home  with  her  expensive  clothing  ruined.  But  in  her 
eyes  and  cheeks  still  lingered  the  brilliant  fires  of  bat- 
tle, when  Janet  stripped  her  for  a  bath. 

And  once  in  the  park  she  sprang  like  a  young  tigress 
upon  a  group  of  ragamuffins  who  had  found  a  wild 
black  mallard  duck,  nesting  in  a  thicket  near  the  lake, 
and  who  were  stoning  the  frightened  thing. 

All  Janet  could  see  was  a  most  dreadful  melee  agi- 
tating the  bushes,  from  which  presently  burst  boy  after 
boy,  in  an  agony  of  flight,  rushing  headlong  and  ter- 
ror-stricken from  that  dreadful  place  where  a  wild-girL 
raged,  determined  on  their  extermination. 

80 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Stephanie's  development  was  watched  with  tender, 
half-fearful  curiosity  by  Cleland. 

As  usual,  two  separate  columns  were  necessary  to 
record  the  varied  traits  so  far  apparent  in  her.  These 
traits  Cleland  noted  in  the  book  devoted  to  memoranda 
concerning  the  child,  writing  them  as  follows: 

Inclined  to  self-indulgence.  Easily  moved  to  impulsive 

Consequently,  a  trifle  sel-  self-sacrifice, 

fish  at  times.  Ardent  in  her  affections; 

Over-sensitive   and   likely  loyal  to  friendship;  and  es- 

to  exaggerate.  sentially  truthful. 

Very  great  talent  latent:  Indignation  quickly  excited 

possibly  histrionic.  by  any  form  of  cruelty  or 

Anger,        when       finally  treachery.     Action  likely  to 

aroused,  likely  to  lead  to  ex-  be  immediate  without  regard 

tremes.  for  personal  considerations. 

Generous    with   her   pos- 
sessions. 

So  far  he  could  discover  nothing  vicious  in  her,  no 
unworthy  inherited  instincts  beyond  those  common  to 
young  humans,  instincts  supposed  to  be  extirpated  by 
education. 

She  was  no  greedier  than  any  other  healthy  child,  no 
more  self-centred ;  all  her  appetites  were  normal,  all  her 
inclinations  natural.  She  had  a  good  mind,  but  a  very 
human  one,  fairly  balanced  but  sensitive  to  emotion,  in- 
clination, and  impulse,  and  sometimes  rather  tardy  in 
readjusting  itself  when  logic  and  reason  were  required 
to  regain  equilibrium. 

But  the  child  was  more  easily  swayed  by  gratitude 
than  by  any  other  of  the  several  human  instincts  known 
as  virtues. 

So  she  grew  toward  adolescence,  closely  watched  by 
Cleland,  good-naturedly  tolerated  by  Jim,  worshipped 

81 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


by  Janet,  served  by  Meacham  with  instinctive  devotion 
— the  only  quality  in  him  not  burnt  out  in  his  little 
journeys  through  hell. 

There  were  others,  too,  in  the  world,  who  remembered 
the  child.  There  was  her  aunt,  who  came  once  a  month 
and  brought  always  an  expensive  present,  over  the  suit- 
ability of  which  she  and  Cleland  differed  to  the  verge  of 
rudeness.  But  they  always  parted  on  excellent  terms. 

And  there  was  Chiltern  Grismer,  who  sat  sometimes 
for  hours  in  his  office,  thinking  about  the  child  and  the 
fortune  which  threatened  her. 

Weeks,  adhering  to  one  another,  became  months; 
months  totalled  years — several  of  them,  recorded  so 
suddenly  that  John  Cleland  could  not  believe  it. 

He  had  arrived  at  that  epoch  in  the  life  of  man  when 
the  years  stood  still  with  him:  when  he  neither  felt 
himself  changing  nor  appeared  to  grow  older,  though 
all  around  him  he  was  constantly  aware  of  others  aging. 
Yet,  being  always  with  Stephanie,  he  could  not  notice 
her  rapid  development,  as  he  noted  the  astonishing 
growth  of  his  son  when  the  boy  came  home  after  brief 
absences  at  school. 

Stephanie,  still  a  child,  was  becoming  something  else 
very  rapidly.  But  still  she  remained  childlike  enough 
to  idolize  Jim  Cleland  and  to  show  it,  without  reserve. 
And  though  he  really  found  her  excellent  company, 
amusing  and  diverting,  her  somewhat  persistent  and 
dog-like  devotion  embarrassed  and  bored  him  some- 
times. He  was  at  that  age. 

Young  Grismer,  in  Jim's  hearing,  commenting  upon 
a  similar  devotion  inflicted  on  himself  by  a  girl,  char- 
acterized her  as  "too  damn  pleasant" — a  brutal  yet 
graphic  summary. 

And  for  a  while  the  offensive  phrase  stuck  in  Jim's 

82 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


memory,  though  always  chivalrously  repudiated  as  ap- 
plying to  Stephanie.  Yet,  the  poor  girl  certainly  bored 
him  at  times,  so  blind  her  devotion,  so  pitiful  her  de- 
sire to  please,  so  eager  her  heart  of  a  child  for  the 
comradeship  denied  her  in  the  dreadful  years  of  soli- 
tude and  fear. 

For  a  year  or  two  the  affair  lay  that  way  between 
these  two ;  the  school-boy's  interest  in  the  little  girl  was 
the  interest  of  polite  responsibility;  consideration  for 
misfortune,  toleration  for  her  sex,  with  added  allow- 
ance for  her  extreme  youth.  This  was  the  boy's  at- 
titude. 

Had  not  boarding-school  and  college  limited  his  so- 
journ at  home,  it  is  possible  that  indifference  might 
have  germinated. 

But  he  saw  her  so  infrequently  and  for  such  short 
periods  ;  and  even  during  the  summer  vacation,  growing 
outside  interests,  increasing  complexity  in  social  rela- 
tions with  fellow  students — invitations  to  house  par- 
ties, motor  trips,  camping  trips — so  interrupted  the 
placid  continuity  of  his  vacation  in  their  pleasant  sum- 
mer home  in  the  northern  Berkshires,  that  he  never 
quite  realized  that  Stephanie  Quest  was  really  anything 
more  than  a  sort  of  permanent  guest,  billeted  indefi- 
nitely under  his  father's  roof. 

When  he  was  home  in  New  York  at  Christmas  and 
Easter,  his  gravely  detached  attitude  of  amiable  con- 
sideration never  varied  toward  her. 

The  few  weeks  at  a  time  that  he  spent  at  "Runner's 
Rest,"  his  father's  quaint  and  ancient  place  on  Cold 
River,  permitted  him  no  time  to  realize  the  importance 
and  permanency  of  the  place  she  already  occupied  as 
an  integral  part  of  the  house  of  del  and. 

A  thousand  new  interests,  new  thoughts,  possessed 

83 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


the  boy  in  the  full  tide  of  adolescence.  All  the  world 
was  beginning  to  unclose  before  him  like  the  brilliant, 
fragrant  petals  of  a  magic  flower.  And  in  this  rain- 
bow transformaton  of  things  terrestrial,  a  boy's  rnind 
is  always  unbalanced  by  the  bewildering  and  charming 
confusion  of  it  all — for  it  is  he  who  is  changing,  not 
the  world;  he  is  merely  learning  to  see  instead  of  to 
look,  to  comprehend  instead  of  to  perceive,  to  realize 
instead  of  to  take  for  granted  all  the  wonders  and  mar- 
vels and  mysteries  to  which  a  young  man  is  heir. 

It  is  drama,  comedy,  farce,  tragedy,  this  inevitable 
awakening;  it  is  the  alternate  elucidation  and  deepen- 
ing of  mysteries ;  it  is  a  day  of  clear,  keen  reasoning 
succeeding  a  day  of  illogical  caprice;  an  hour  aquiver 
with  undreamed-of  mental  torture  followed  by  an  hour 
of  spiritual  exaltation;  it  is  the  era  of  magnificent  as- 
piration, of  inexplicable  fear,  of  lofty  abnegations,  of 
fierce  egotisms,  of  dreams  and  of  convictions,  of  faiths 
for  which  youth  dies ;  and,  alas,  it  is  a  day  of  pitiless  de- 
velopment which  leaves  the  shadowy  memory  of  faith 
lingering  in  the  brain,  and,  on  the  lips,  a  smile. 

And,  amid  such  emotions,  such  impulses,  such  desires, 
fears,  aspirations,  hopes,  regrets,  the  average  boy  puts 
on  that  Nessus  coat  called  manhood.  And  he  has,  in 
his  temporarily  dislocated  and  unadjusted  brain,  neither 
the  time  nor  the  patience,  nor  the  interest,  nor  the  logic 
at  his  command  necessary  to  see  and  understand  what 
is  happening  under  his  aspiring  and  heavenward-tilted 
nose.  Only  the  clouds  enrapture  him ;  where  every  star 
beckons  him  he  responds  in  a  passion  of  endeavour. 

And  so  he  begins  the  inevitable  climb  toward  the 
moon — the  path  which  every  man  born  upon  the  earth 
has  trodden  far  or  only  a  little  way,  but  the  path  all 
men  at  least  have  tried. 

84 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


In  his  freshman  year  at  Harvard,  he  got  drunk.  The 
episode  was  quite  inadvertent  on  his  part — one  of  those 
accidents  incident  to  the  vile,  claret-coloured  "punches" 
offered  by  some  young  idiot  in  "honour"  of  his  own 
birthday. 

The  Cambridge  police  sheltered  him  over  night ;  his 
fine  was  over-subscribed;  he  explored  the  depths  of 
hell  in  consequence  of  the  affair,  endured  the  agony  of 
shame,  remorse,  and  self-loathing  to  the  physical  and 
mental  limit,  and  eventually  recovered,  regarding  him- 
self as  a  reformed  criminal  with  a  shattered  past. 

However,  the  youthful  gloom  and  melancholy  dignity 
with  which  this  clothed  him  had  a  faint  and  not  en- 
tirely unpleasant  flavour — as  one  who  might  say,  "I 
have  lived  and  learned.  There  is  the  sad  wisdom  of 
worldly  things  within  me."  But  he  cut  out  alcohol. 
It  being  the  fashion  at  that  time  to  shrug  away  an  of- 
fered cup,  he  found  little  difficulty  in  avoiding  it. 

In  his  Sophomore  year,  he  met  the  inevitable  young 
person.  And,  after  all  that  had  been  told  him,  all  that 
he  had  disdainfully  pictured  to  himself,  did  not  recog- 
nize her  when  he  met  her. 

It  was  one  of  those  episodes  which  may  end  any 
way.  And  it  ended,  of  course,  in  one  way  or  another. 
But  it  did  end. 

Thus  the  limited  world  he  moved  in  began  to  wear 
away  the  soft-rounded  contours  of  boyhood ;  he  learned 
a  little  about  men,  nothing  whatever  about  women,  but 
was  inclined  to  consider  that  he  understood  them  sadly 
and  perfectly.  He  wrote  several  plays,  novels  and 
poems  to  amuse  himself;  wrote  articles  for  the  college 
periodicals,  when  he  was  not  too  busy  training  with 
the  baseball  squad  or  playing  tennis,  or  lounging 
through  those  golden  and  enchanted  hours  when  the 

85 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


smoke  of  undergraduate  pipes  spins  a  magic  haze  over 
life,  enveloping  books  and  comrades  in  that  exquisite 
and  softly  brilliant  web  which  never  tears,  never  fades 
in  memory  while  life  endures. 

He  made  many  friends;  he  visited  many  homes;  he 
failed  sometimes,  but  more  often  he  made  good  in  what- 
ever he  endeavoured. 

His  father  came  on  to  Cambridge  several  times — al- 
ways when  his  son  requested  it — and  he  knew  the  sym- 
pathy of  his  father  in  days  of  triumph,  and  he  under- 
stood his  father's  unshaken  belief  in  his  only  son  when 
that  son,  for  the  moment,  faltered. 

For  he  had  confided  in  his  father  the  episodes  of  the 
punch  and  the  young  person.  Never  had  his  father 
and  he  been  closer  together  in  mind  and  spirit  than 
after  that  confession. 

In  spite  of  several  advances  made  by  Chiltern  Gris- 
mer,  whose  son,  Oswald,  was  also  at  Harvard  and  a 
popular  man  in  his  class,  John  Cleland  remained  po- 
litely unreceptive;  and  there  were  no  social  amenities 
exchanged.  Jim  Cleland  and  Oswald  Grismer  did  not 
visit  each  other,  although  friendly  enough  at  Cam- 
bridge. Cleland  Senior  made  no  particular  effort  to 
discourage  any  such  friendly  footing,  and  he  was  not 
inclined  to  judge  young  Grismer  by  his  father.  He 
merely  remained  unresponsive. 

In  such  cases,  he  who  makes  the  advances  interprets 
their  non-success  according  to  his  own  nature.  And 
Grismer  concluded  that  he  had  been  a  victim  of  in- 
sidious guile  and  sharp  practice,  and  that  John  Cleland 
had  taken  Stephanie  to  his  heart  only  after  he  had 
learned  that,  some  day,  she  would  inherit  the  Quest 
fortune  from  her  eccentric  relative. 

Chagrin  and  sullen  irritation  against  Cleland  had 

86 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


possessed  him  since  he  first  learned  of  this  inheritance ; 
and  he  nourished  both  until  they  grew  into  a  dull, 
watchful  anger.  And  he  waited  for  something  or  other 
that  might  in  some  way  offer  him  a  chance  to  repair 
the  vital  mistake  he  had  made  in  his  attitude  toward 
the  child. 

But  Cleland  gave  him  no  opening  whatever ;  Grismer's 
social  advances  were  amiably  ignored.  And  it  became 
plainer  and  plainer  to  Grismer,  as  he  interpreted  the 
situation,  that  John  Cleland  was  planning  to  unite, 
through  his  son  Jim,  the  comfortable  Cleland  income 
with  the  Quest  millions,  and  to  elbow  everybody  else 
out  of  the  way. 

"The  philanthropic  hypocrite,"  mused  Grismer,  still 
smarting  from  a  note  expressing  civil  regrets  in  reply 
to  an  invitation  to  Stephanie  and  Jim  to  join  them 
after  church  for  a  motor  trip  to  Lakewood. 

"Can't  they  come?"  inquired  Oswald. 

"Previous  engagement,"  snapped  Grismer,  tearing 
up  the  note.  His  wife,  an  invalid,  with  stringy  hair 
and  spots  on  her  face,  remarked  with  resignation  that 
the  Clelands  were  too  stylish  to  care  about  plain, 
Christian  people. 

"Stylish,"  repeated  Grismer,  "I've  got  ten  dollars 
to  Cleland's  one.  I  can  put  on  style  enough  to  swamp 
him  if  I've  a  mind  to ! — m-m-rn'yes,  if  I've  a  mind  to." 

"Why  don't  you?"  inquired  Oswald,  with  a  malicious 
side  glance  at  his  father's  frock  coat  and  ready-made 
cravat.  "Chuck  the  religious  game  and  wear  spats 
and  a  topper!  It's  a  better  graft,  governor." 

Chiltern  Grismer,  only  partly  attentive  to  his  son's 
impudence,  turned  a  fierce,  preoccupied  glance  upon 
him.  But  his  mind  was  still  intrigued  with  that  word 
"stylish."  It  began  to  enrage  him. 

87 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


He  repeated  it  aloud  once  or  twice,  sneeringly : 

"So  you  think  we  may  not  be  sufficiently  stylish 
to  suit  the  Clelands — or  that  brat  they  picked  out 
of  the  sewer?  M-m-m'yes,  out  of  an  east-side 
sewer !" 

Oswald  pricked  up  his  intelligent  and  rather  pointed 
ears. 

"What  brat?"  he  inquired. 

Chiltern  Grismer  had  never  told  his  son  the  story  of 
Stephanie  Quest.  In  the  beginning,  the  boy  had  been 
too  young,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  particular  reason 
for  telling  him.  Later,  when  Grismer  suddenly  devel- 
oped ambitions  in  behalf  of  his  son  for  the  Quest  for- 
tune, he  did  not  say  anything  about  Stephanie's  origin, 
fearing  that  it  might  prejudice  his  son. 

Now,  he  suddenly  concluded  to  tell  him,  not  from 
spite  entirely,  nor  to  satisfy  his  increasing  resentment 
against  Cleland ;  but  because  Oswald  would,  some  day, 
inherit  the  Grismer  money.  And  it  might  be  just  as 
well  to  prime  him  now,  in  the  event  that  any  of  the 
Clelands  should  ever  start  to  reopen  the  case  which  had 
deprived  Jessie  Grismer  of  her  own  inheritance  so  many 
years  ago. 

The  young  fellow  listened  with  languid  astonish- 
ment as  the  links  of  the  story,  very  carefully  and 
morally  polished,  were  displayed  by  his  father  for  his 
instruction  and  edification. 

"That  is  the  sort  of  stylish  people  they  are,"  con- 
cluded Grismer,  making  an  abrupt  end.  "Let  it  be  a 
warning  to  you  to  keep  your  eye  on  the  Clelands:  for 
a  man  that  calls  himself  a  philanthropist,  and  is  sharp 
enough  to  pick  out  an  heiress  from  the  gutter,  will  bear 
watching! — m-m-m'yes,  indeed,  he  certainly  wiM  bear 
watching." 

88 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Mrs.  Grismer,  who  was  knitting  with  chilly  fingers, 
sighed. 

"You  always  said  it  was  God's  judgment  on  Jessie 
and  her  descendants,  Chiltern.  But  I  kind  of  wish 
you'd  been  a  little  mite  more  forgiving." 

"Who  am  I?"  demanded  Grismer,  sullenly,  "to  thwart 
God's  wrath  .  .  .  m-m-m'yes,  the  anger  of  the  Lord 
Almighty !  And  I  never  thought  of  that  imbecile 
aunt.  ...  It  was  divine  will  that  punished  my  erring 
sister  and  her  children,  and  her  children's  chil " 

"Rot!"  remarked  Oswald.  "Cleland  caught  you 
napping  and  put  one  over.  That's  all  that  worries 
you.  And  now  you  are  properly  and  piously  sore!" 

"That  is  an  impious  and  wickedly  outrageous  way 
to  talk  to  your  father !"  said  Grismer,  glaring  at  him. 
"You  have  come  back  from  college  lacking  reverence 
and  respect  for  everything  you  have  been  taught  to 
consider  sacred! — m-m-m'yes — everything!  You  have 
returned  to  us  utterly  demoralized,  defiant,  rebellious, 
changed !  Every  worldly  abomination  seems  to  attract 
you :  you  smoke  openly  in  your  mother's  presence ;  your 
careless  and  loose  conversation  betrays  your  contempt 
for  the  simple,  homely,  and  frugal  atmosphere  in  which 
you  have  been  reared  by  Christian  parents.  Doubt- 
less we  are  not  sufficiently  stylish  for  you  any  longer !" 
he  added  sarcastically. 

"I'm  sorry  I  was  disrespectful,  governor " 

"No!  You  are  not  sorry !"  retorted  Grismer  tartly. 
"You  rejoice  secretly  in  your  defiance  of  your  parents! 
You  have  been  demoralized  by  the  license  permitted  you 
by  absence  from  home.  You  live  irresponsibly ;  you 
fling  away  your  money  on  theatres !  You  yourself  ad- 
mit that  you  have  learned  to  dance.  Nothing  that 
your  pastor  has  taught  you,  nothing  that  our  church 

89 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


He  repeated  it  aloud  once  or  twice,  sneeringly : 
"So  you  think  we  may  not  be   sufficiently   stylish 
to   suit  the   Clelands — or  that  brat   they  picked   out 
of    the     sewer?       M-m-m'yes,    out    of    an    east-side 


sewer 


I" 


Oswald  pricked  up  his  intelligent  and  rather  pointed 
ears. 

"What  brat?"  he  inquired. 

Chiltern  Grismer  had  never  told  his  son  the  story  of 
Stephanie  Quest.  In  the  beginning,  the  boy  had  been 
too  young,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  particular  reason 
for  telling  him.  Later,  when  Grismer  suddenly  devel- 
oped ambitions  in  behalf  of  his  son  for  the  Quest  for- 
tune, he  did  not  say  anything  about  Stephanie's  origin, 
fearing  that  it  might  prejudice  his  son. 

Now,  he  suddenly  concluded  to  tell  him,  not  from 
spite  entirely,  nor  to  satisfy  his  increasing  resentment 
against  Cleland;  but  because  Oswald  would,  some  day, 
inherit  the  Grismer  money.  And  it  might  be  just  as 
well  to  prime  him  now,  in  the  event  that  any  of  the 
Clelands  should  ever  start  to  reopen  the  case  which  had 
deprived  Jessie  Grismer  of  her  own  inheritance  so  many 
years  ago. 

The  young  fellow  listened  with  languid  astonish- 
ment as  the  links  of  the  story,  very  carefully  and 
morally  polished,  were  displayed  by  his  father  for  his 
instruction  and  edification. 

"That  is  the  sort  of  stylish  people  they  are,"  con- 
cluded Grismer,  making  an  abrupt  end.  "Let  it  be  a 
warning  to  you  to  keep  your  eye  on  the  Clelands:  for 
a  man  that  calls  himself  a  philanthropist,  and  is  sharp 
enough  to  pick  out  an  heiress  from  the  gutter,  will  bear 
watching! — m-m-m'yes,  indeed,  he  certainly  will  bear 
watching." 

88 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Mrs.  Grismer,  who  was  knitting  with  chilly  fingers, 
sighed. 

"You  always  said  it  was  God's  judgment  on  Jessie 
and  her  descendants,  Chiltern.  But  I  kind  of  wish 
you'd  been  a  little  mite  more  forgiving." 

"Who  am  I?"  demanded  Grismer,  sullenly,  "to  thwart 
God's  wrath  .  .  .  m-m-m'yes,  the  anger  of  the  Lord 
Almighty!  And  I  never  thought  of  that  imbecile 
aunt.  ...  It  was  divine  will  that  punished  my  erring 
sister  and  her  children,  and  her  children's  chil " 

"Rot!"  remarked  Oswald.  "Cleland  caught  you 
napping  and  put  one  over.  That's  all  that  worries 
3'ou.  And  now  you  are  properly  and  piously  sore!" 

"That  is  an  impious  and  wickedly  outrageous  way 
to  talk  to  your  father !"  said  Grismer,  glaring  at  him. 
"You  have  come  back  from  college  lacking  reverence 
and  respect  for  everything  you  have  been  taught  to 
consider  sacred! — m-m-m'yes — everything!  You  have 
returned  to  us  utterly  demoralized,  defiant,  rebellious, 
changed !  Every  worldly  abomination  seems  to  attract 
you :  you  smoke  openly  in  your  mother's  presence ;  your 
careless  and  loose  conversation  betrays  your  contempt 
for  the  simple,  homely,  and  frugal  atmosphere  in  which 
you  have  been  reared  by  Christian  parents.  Doubt- 
less we  are  not  sufficiently  stylish  for  you  any  longer !" 
he  added  sarcastically. 

"I'm  sorry  I  was  disrespectful,  governor " 

"No!  You  are  not  sorry !"  retorted  Grismer  tartly. 
"You  rejoice  secretly  in  your  defiance  of  your  parents ! 
You  have  been  demoralized  by  the  license  permitted  you 
by  absence  from  home.  You  live  irresponsibly ;  you 
fling  away  your  money  on  theatres !  You  yourself  ad- 
mit that  you  have  learned  to  dance.  Nothing  that 
your  pastor  has  taught  you,  nothing  that  our  church 

89 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


holds  sacred  seems  capable  of  restraining  you  from 
wickedness.  That  is  the  truth,  Oswald.  And  your 

mother  and  I  despair  of  your  future,  here  and "  he 

lifted  his  eyes  solemnly — "above." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Finally  Oswald  said 
with  sullen  frankness : 

"You  see  I'm  a  man,  now,  and  I've  got  to  do  my 
own  thinking.  Things  I  used  to  believe  seem  tommy- 
rot  to  me  now " 

"Oswald !"  sighed  his  mother. 

"I'm  sorry  to  pain  you,  Mother,  but  they  do !  And 
about  everything  you  object  to  I  find  agreeable.  I'm 
not  very  bad,  Mother.  But  this  sort  of  talk  inclines 
me  to  raise  the  devil.  What's  the  harm  in  going  to  a 
show?  In  dancing?  In  smoking  a  cigar?  For  heav- 
en's sake,  let  a  fellow  alone.  The  line  of  talk  the  gov- 
ernor hands  me  makes  a  cynic  of  a  man  who's  got  any 
brains." 

There  was  another  silence ;  then  Oswald  contin- 
ued: 

"And,  while  we  are  trying  to  be  frank  with  each  otlier 
this  pleasant  Sunday  morning,  what  about  my  career? 
Let's  settle  it  now !" 

"I'm  opposed  to  any  such  frivolous  profession !" 
snapped  Grismer  angrily.  "That's  your  answer.  And 
that  settles  it." 

"You  mean  that  you  still  oppose  my  studying  sculp- 
ture?" 

"Emphatically." 

"Why?"  demanded  the  youth,  rather  white,  but  smil- 
ing. 

"Because  it  is  no  business  career  for  a  Christian !" 
retorted  his  father,  furious.  "It  is  a  loose,  irregular, 
eccentric  profession,  beset  with  pitfalls  and  tempta- 

90 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


tions.  It  leads  to  immorality  and  unbelief — m-m-m'yes, 
to  hell  itself !  And  that  is  why  I  oppose  it !" 

Oswald  shrugged: 

"I'm  sorry  you  feel  that  way  but  I  can't  help  it, 
of  course." 

"Do  you  mean,"  inquired  his  mother,  "that  you  in- 
tend to  disregard  our  solemn  wishes?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  young  fellow,  "I  really  don't 
know,  Mother.  I  can't  seem  to  breathe  and  expand 
at  home.  You've  never  made  things  very  cheerful  for; 
me." 

"Oswald !     You  are  utterly  heartless !" 

"I've  been  fed  up  on  the  governor's  kind  of  religion, 
on  narrow  views  and  gloom ;  and  that's  no  good  for  a 
modern  boy.  It's  a  wonder  I  have  any  heart  at  all,  and 
sometimes  I  think  it's  dried  up " 

"That  will  do !"  shouted  Grismer,  losing  all  self-con- 
trol. "If  your  home,  your  parents,  and  your  Creator 
can  not  make  a  Christian  of  you,  there  is  nothing  to 
hope  from  you !  .  .  .  I'll  hear  no  more  from  you. 
Go  and  get  ready  for  church !" 

"I  sha'n't  go,"  said  the  young  fellow  calmly. 

When  he  went  back  to  Cambridge  at  the  end  of  the 
week,  it  was  with  the  desire  never  to  see  his  home  again, 
and  with  a  vague  and  burning  intention  to  get  even, 
somehow,  by  breaking  every  law  of  the  imbecile  religion 
on  which  he  had  been  "fed  up." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN  Stephanie  was   fifteen  years  old,  John 
Cleland  took  her  to  Cambridge. 
The  girl  had  been  attending  a  celebrated 
New  York  school  during  the  last  two  years.     She  had 
developed  the  bearing  and  manners  which  characterized 
the  carefully  trained  products  of  that  institution,  but 
the  regime  seemed  to  have  subdued  her,  and  made  her 
retiring  and  diffident. 

She  could  have  formed  friendships  there  had  she  de- 
sired to  do  so ;  she  formed  none ;  yet  any  girl  there 
would  have  been  happy  and  flattered  to  call  Stephanie 
Quest  her  friend.  But  Stephanie  cared  little  for  those 
confidential  and  intimate  relations  so  popular  among 
school  girls  of  her  age. 

She  made  no  enemies,  however.  An  engaging  ret- 
icence and  reserve  characterized  her — the  shy  and 
wistful  charm  of  that  indeterminate  age  when  a  girl  is 
midway  in  the  delicate  process  of  transformation. 

If  she  cared  nothing  about  girls,  she  lacked  self-con- 
fidence with  boys,  though  vastly  preferring  their  so- 
ciety ;  but  she  got  little  of  it  except  when  Jim's  school 
friends  came  to  the  house  during  holidays.  Then  she 
had  a  heavenly  time  just  watching  and  listening. 

So  when  John  Cleland  took  her  to  Cambridge,  she 
had,  in  the  vernacular  of  the  moment,  a  "wonderful" 
experience — everything  during  that  period  of  her  ca- 
reer being  "wonderful"  or  "topping." 

02 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Jim,  as  always,  was  "wonderful;"  and  the  attitude 
of  his  friends  alternately  delighted  and  awed  her,  so 
gaily  devoted  they  instantly  became  to  Jim's  "little 
sister." 

But  what  now  secretly  thrilled  the  girl  was  that  Jim, 
for  the  first  time,  seemed  to  be  proud  of  her,  not  tol- 
erating her  as  an  immature  member  of  the  family,  but 
welcoming  her  as  an  equal,  on  an  equal  footing.  And, 
with  inexpressible  delight,  she  remembered  her  deter- 
mination, long  ago,  to  overtake  him;  and  realized  that 
she  was  doing  it  very  rapidly. 

So  she  went  to  a  football  game  at  the  stadium ;  she 
took  tea  in  the  quarters  of  these  god-like  young  men; 
she  motored  about  Cambridge  and  Boston;  she  saw  all 
that  a  girl  of  fifteen  ought  to  see,  heard  all  that  she 
ought  to  hear,  and  went  back  to  New  York  with  John 
Cleland  in  the  seventh  paradise  of  happiness  fulfilled, 
madly  enamoured  of  Jim  and  every  youthful  superman 
he  had  introduced  to  her. 

Every  year  while  Jim  was  at  college  there  was  a 
repetition  of  this  programme,  and  she  and  John  Cle- 
land departed  regularly  for  Cambridge  amid  excitement 
indescribable. 

And  when,  in  due  time,  Jim  prepared  to  emerge  from 
that  great  university,  swaddled  in  sheepskin,  and  reek- 
ing with  Cambridge  culture,  Stephanie  went  again  to 
Cambridge  with  her  adopted  father — a  girl,  then,  of 
seventeen,  still  growing,  still  in  the  wondering  maze  of 
her  own  adolescence,  exquisitely  involved  in  its  magic, 
conscious  already  of  its  spell,  of  its  witchcraft,  which 
lore  she  was  shyly  venturing  to  investigate. 

She  had  a  "wonderful"  week  in  Cambridge — more 
and  more  excited  by  the  discovery  that  young  men 
found  her  as  agreeable  as  she  found  them,  and  that 

93 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


they  sought  her  now  on  perfectly  even  terms  of  years 
and  experience ;  regarded  her  as  of  them,  not  merely 
with  them.  And  this  enchanted  her. 

Two  of  her  school  friends,  the  Hildreth  girls,  were 
there  with  their  mother,  and  the  latter  very  gladly  ex- 
tended her  wing  to  cover  Stephanie  for  the'  dance,  John 
Cleland  not  feeling  very  well  and  remaining  in  Bos- 
ton. 

Arid  it  chanced  that  Stephanie  met  there  Oswald 
Grismer ;  and  knew  him  instantly  when  he  was  pre- 
sented to  her.  Even  after  all  those  years,  the  girl 
clearly  recollected  seeing  him  in  the  railroad  station, 
and  remembered  the  odd  emotions  of  curiosity  and  dis- 
approval she  experienced  when  he  stared  at  her  so 
persistently — disapproval  slightly  mitigated  by  con- 
sciousness of  the  boyish  flattery  his  manner?  toward  her 
implied. 

He  said,  in  his  easy,  half-mischievous  way : 

"You  don't  remember  me,  of  course,  Miss  Quest,  biit 
when  you  were  a  very  little  girl  I  once  saw  you  at  the 
Grand  Central  Station  in  New  York." 

Stephanie,  as  yet  too  inexperienced  a  diplomat  to  for- 
get such  things,  replied  frankly  that  she  remembered 
him  perfectly.  When  it  was  too  late,  she  blushed  at  her 
admission. 

"That's  unusually  nice  of  you,"  he  said.  "Maybe  it 
was  my  bad  manners  that  impressed  you,  Miss  Quest. 
I  remember  that  I  had  never  seen  such  a  pretty  little 
girl  in  my  life,  and  I'm  very  sure  I  stared  at  you,  and 
that  you  were  properly  annoyed." 

He  was  laughing  easily,  as  he  spoke,  and  she  laughed, 
too,  still  a  trifle  confused. 

"I  did  think  you  rather  rude,"  she  admitted.  "But 
what  a  long  time  ago  that  was !  Isn't  it  strange  that 

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THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


I  should  remember  it?  I  can  even  recollect  that  you 
and  my  brother  had  had  a  fight  in  school  and  that  dad 
made  you  both  shake  hands  there  in  the  station,  before 
you  went  aboard  the  train.  .  .  .  Naturally,  I  didn't 
feel  kindly  toward  you,"  she  added,  laughingly. 

"Jim  and  I  are  now  on  most  amiable  terms,"  he  as- 
sured her,  "so  please  feel  kindly  toward  me  now — 
kindly  enough  to  give  me  one  unimportant  dance.  Will 
you,  Miss  Quest?" 

Later,  when  he  presented  himself  to  claim  the  dance, 
her  reception  of  him  was  unmistakably  friendly. 

He  had  grown  up  into  a  spare,  loosely  coupled,  yet 
rather  graceful  young  fellow,  with  hair  and  eyes  that 
matched,  both  of  a  deep  amber  shade. 

But  theri-*was  in  his  bearing,  in  his  carelessly  at- 
tractive manner,  in  his  gaze,  a  lurking  hint  of  irrespon- 
sibility, perhaps  of  mischief,  which  did  not,  however, 
impress  her  disagreeably. 

On  the  contrary,  she  felt  oddly  at  ease  with  him,  as 
though  she  had  known  him  for  some  time. 

"Have  you  forgiven  me  for  staring  at  you  so  many 
years  ago?"  he  inquired,  smilingty. 

She  thought  that  she  had. 

But  his  next  words  startled  her  a  little ;  he  said,  still 
smiling  in  his  careless  and  attractive  way: 

"I  have  a  queer  idea  that  we're  beginning  in  the 
middle  of  everything — that  we've  already  known  each 
other  long  enough  to  waive  preliminaries  and  begin  our 
acquaintance  as  old  friends." 

He  was  saying  almost  exactly  what  she  had  not  put 
into  words.  He  was  still  looking  at  her  intently,  curi- 
ously, with  the  same  slightly  importunate,  slightly  def- 
erential smile  which  she  now  vividly  remembered  in  the 
boy. 

95 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Do  37ou,  by  any  chance,  feel  the  same  about  our  en- 
counter?" he  asked. 

"What  way?" 

"That  we  seem  to  have  known  each  other  for  a  long 
time?" 

Stephanie  had  not  yet  learned  very  much  in  the  art 
of  self-defense.  A  question  to  her  still  meant  either  a 
truthful  answer  or  a  silence.  She  remained  silent. 

"Do  you,  Miss  Quest?"  he  persisted. 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"As  though,"  he  insisted,  "you  and  I  are  beginning 
in  the  middle  of  the  book  of  friendship  instead  of  both- 
ering to  cut  the  pages  of  the  preface?"  he  suggested 

gaily- 

She  laughed. 

"You  know,"  she  warned  him,  "that  I  have  not  yet 
made  up  my  mind  about  you." 

"Oh.     Concerning  what  are  you  in  doubt?" 

"Concerning  exactly  how  I  ought  to  consider  you." 

"As  a  friend,  please." 

"Perhaps.     Are  we  going  to  dance  or  talk?" 

After  they  had  been  dancing  for  a  few  moments : 

"So  you  are  a  crew  man?" 

"Who  told  you?" 

"I've  inquired  about  you,"  she  admitted,  glancing 
sideways  at  the  tall,  spare,  graceful  young  fellow  with 
his  almost  golden  colouring.  "I  have  questioned  va- 
rious people.  They  told  me  things." 

"Did  they  give  me  a  black  eye?"  he  asked,  laugh- 
ingly. 

"No.  But  somebody  gave  you  a  pair  of  golden 
ones.  .  .  .  Like  two  sun-spots  on  a  brown  brook. 
You've  a  golden  look ;  do  you  know  it  ?" 

"Red-headed  men  turn  that  way  when  they're  in  the 

96 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


sun  and  wind,"  he  explained,  still  laughing,  yet  plainly 
fascinated  by  the  piquant,  breezy  informality  of  this 
young  girl.  "Tell  me,  do  you  still  go  to  school,  Miss 
Quest?" 

"How  insulting !  .  .  .  Yes !  But  it  was  mean  of 
you  to  ask." 

"Good  Lord !  You  didn't  expect  me  to  think  you  the 
mother  of  a  family,  did  you?" 

That  mollified  her. 

"Where  do  you  go  to  school?"  he  continued. 

"Miss  Montfort's.     I  finish  this  week." 

"And  then?" 

"To  college,  I'm  afraid." 

"Don't  you  want  to?" 

"I'd  rather  go  to  a  dramatic  school." 

"Is  that  your  inclination,  Miss  Quest?" 

"I'd  adore  it !    But  dad  doesn't." 

"Too  bad." 

"I  don't  know.  I'm  quite  happy,  anyway.  I'm  hav- 
ing a  wonderful  time,  whatever  I'm  doing." 

"Then  it  isn't  an  imperious  call  from  Heaven  to  leave 
all  and  elevate  the  drama?"  he  asked,  with  a  pretense 
of  anxiety  that  made  her  laugh. 

"You  are  disrespectful.  I'm  sure  I  could  elevate  the 
drama  if  I  had  the  chance.  But  I  sha'n't  get  it.  How- 
ever, next  to  the  stage  I  adore  to  paint,"  she  explained. 
"There  is  a  class.  I  have  attended  it  for  two  years. 
I  paint  rather  nicely." 

"No  wonder  we  feel  so  friendly,"  exclaimed  Grismer. 

"Why?    Do  you  paint?" 

"No,  but  I'm  to  be  a  sculptor." 

"How  wonderful!  I'm  simply  mad  to  do  something, 
too !  Don't  you  love  the  atmosphere  of  Bohemia,  Mr. 
Grismer?" 

97 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


He  said  that  he  did  with  a  mischievous  smile  straight 
into  her  grey  eyes. 

"It  is  my  dream,"  she  went  on,  slightly  confused, 
"to  have  a  scudio — not  a  bit  fixed  up,  you  know,  and 
not  frilly — but  with  just  one  or  two  wonderful  old 
objects  of  art  here  and  there  and  the  rest  a  fascinating 
confusion  of  artistic  things." 

"Great !"  he  assented.     "Please  ask  me  to  tea !" 

"Wouldn't  it  be  wonderful?  And  of  course  I'd  work 
like  fury  until  five  o'clock  every  day,  and  then  just 
have  tea  ready  for  the  brilliant  and  interesting  people 
who  are  likely  to  drop  in  to  discuss  the  most  wonder- 
ful things!  Just  think  of  it,  Mr.  Grismer!  Think 
what  a  heavenly  privilege  it  must  be  to  live  such  a 
life,  surrounded  by  inspiration  and — and  atmosphere 
and — and  such  things — and  listening  to  the  conversa- 
tion of  celebrated  people  telling  each  other  all  about 
art  and  how  they  became  famous!  What  a  lofty,  ex-~ 
alted  life!  What  a  magnificent  incentive  to  self-culti- 
vation, attainment,  and  creative  accomplishment !  And 
yet,  how  charmingly  informal  and  free  from  artificial- 

ityiw 

Grismer  also  had  looked  forward  to  a  professional 
career  in  Bohemia,  with  a  lively  appreciation  of  its 
agreeable  informalities.  And  the  irresponsibility  and 
liberty — perhaps  license — of  such  a  life  had  appealed  to 
him  only  in  a  lesser  degree  than  the  desire  to  satisfy  his 
artistic  proclivities  with  a  block  of  marble  or  a  fist- 
ful of  clay. 

"Yes,"  he  repeated,  "that  is  undoubtedly  the  life, 
Miss  Quest.  And  it  certainly  seems  as  though  you  and 
I  were  cut  out  for  it." 

Stephanie  sighed,  lost  in  iridescent  dreams  of 
higher  things — vague  visions  of  spiritual  and  artistic 

98 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


levels  from  which,  if  attained,  genius  might  stoop  to 
regenerate  the  world. 

But  Grismer's  amber  eyes  were  brilliant  with  slum- 
bering mischief. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Grismer,  Steve?"  inquired 
Jim  Cleland,  as  they  drove  back  to  Boston  that  night, 
where  his  father,  at  the  hotel,  awaited  them  both. 

"I  really  don't  exactly  know,  Jim.  Do  you  like 
him?" 

"Sometimes.  He's  crew,  Dicky,  Hasty  Pudding. 
lie's  a  curious  chap.  You've  got  to  hand  him  that, 
anyway." 

"Cleverness?" 

"Oh,  more  than  that,  I  think.  He's  an  artist  through 
and  through." 

"Really !" 

"Oh,  yes.     He's  a  bird  on  the  box,  too." 

"What!" 

"On  the  piano,  Steve.  He's  the  real  thing.  He  sings 
charmingly.  He  draws  better  than  Harry  Beltran. 
He's  done  things  in  clay  and  wax — really  wonderful 
things.  You  saw  him  in  theatricals." 

"Did  I?     Which  was  he?" 

"Why,  the  Duke  of  Brooklyn*  of  course.  He  was 
practically  the  whole  show!" 

"I  didn't  know  it,"  she  murmured.  "I  did  not  recog- 
nize him.  How  clever  he  really  is !" 

"You  hadn't  met  him  then,"  remarked  Jim. 

"But  I  had  seen  him,  once,"  she  answered  in  a  low, 
dreamy  voice. 

Jim  Cleland  glanced  around  at  her.  Again  it  struck 
him  that  Stephanie  was  growing  up  very  rapidly  into 
an  amazingly  ornamental  girl — a  sister  to  be  proud  of. 

99 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Did  you  have  a  good  time,  Steve?"  he  asked. 
"Wonderful,"  she  sighed,  smiling  back  at  him  out  of 
sleepy  eyes. 

The  car  sped  on  toward  Boston. 


CHAPTER  IX 

STEPHANIE  QUEST  was  introduced  to  society 
when  she  was  eighteen,  and  was  not  a  success. 
She  had  every  chance  at  her  debut  to  prove  popu- 
lar, but  she  remained  passive,  charmingly  indifferent  to 
social  success,  not  inclined  to  step  upon  the  treadmill, 
unwilling  to  endure  the  exactions,  formalities,  sacrifices, 
and  stupid  routine  which  alone  make  social  position 
possible.  There  was  too  much  chaff  for  the  few  grains 
of  wheat  to  interest  her. 

She  wanted  a  career,  and  she  wanted  to  waste  no 
time  about  it,  and  she  was  delightfully  certain  that  the 
path  to  it  lay  through  some  dramatic  or  art  school  to 
the  stage  or  studio. 

Jim  laughed  at  her  and  teased  her;  but  his  father 
worried  a  great  deal,  and  when  Stephanie  realized  that 
he  was  worrying  she  became  reasonable  about  the  mat- 
ter and  said  that  the  next  best  thing  would  be  college. 

"Dad,"  she  said,  "I  adore  dancing  and  gay  dinner 
parties,  but  there  is  nothing  else  to  them  but  mere 
dancing  and  eating.  The  trouble  seems  to  be  with  the 
people — nice  people,  of  course — but " 

"Brainless,"  remarked  Jim,  looking  over  his  evening 
paper. 

"No;  but  they  all  think  and  do  the  same  things. 
They  all  have  the  same  opinions,  the  same  outlook. 
They  all  read  the  same  books  when  they  read  at  all, 
go  to  see  the  same  plays,  visit  the  same  people.  It's 

101 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


jolly  to  do  it  two  or  three  times ;  but  after  a  little  while 
you  realize  that  all  these  people  are  restless  and  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  themselves ;  and  it  makes  me  rest- 
less— not  for  that  reason — but  because  I  do  know  what 

to  do  with  myself — only  you,  darling "  slipping  one 

arm  around  John  Cleland's  neck,  " — don't  approve." 

"Yours  is  a  restless  sex,  Steve,"  remarked  Jim,  still 
studying  the  evening  paper.  "You've  all  got  the  fid- 
gets." 

"A  libel,  my  patronizing  friend.  Or  rather  a  trib- 
ute," she  added  gaily,  "because  only  a  restless  mind 
matures  and  accomplishes." 

"Accomplishes  what?  Suffrage?  Sex  equality? 
You'll  all  perish  with  boredom  when  you  get  it,  because 
there'll  be  nothing  more  to  fidget  about." 

"He's  just  a  bumptious  boy  yet,  isn't  he,  Dad?" 

Jim  laughed  and  laid  aside  his  paper: 

"You're  a  sweet,  pretty  girl,  Steve " 

"I'll  slay  you  if  you  call  me  that !" 

"Why  not  be  what  you  look?  Why  not  have  a  good 
time  with  all  your  might,  marry  when  you  wish,  and 
become  a  perfectly " 

"Oh,  Jim,  you  are  annoying!  Dad,  is  there  any- 
thing more  irritating  than  a  freshly  hatched  college 
graduate?  Or  more  maddeningly  complacent?  Look 
at  your  self-satisfied  son !  There  he  sits,  after  having 
spent  the  entire  day  in  enjoyment  of  his  profession,  and 
argues  that  I  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  an  idle  day  in 
which  I  have  accomplished  absolutely  nothing!  I'm 
afraid  your  son  is  a  pig." 

Jim  laughed  lazily: 

"The  restless  sex  is  setting  the  world  by  the  ears," 
he  said  tormentingly.  "All  this  femininist  business,  this 
intrusion  into  man's  affairs,  this  fidgety  dissatisfaction 

102 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


with  a  perfectly  good  civilization,  is  spoiling  you  all." 

"Is  that  the  sort  of  thing  you're  putting  into  your 
wonderful  novel?"  she  inquired. 

"No,  it's  too  unimportant  -  " 

"Dad!  Let's  ignore  him!  Now,  dear,  if  you  feel 
as  you  do  about  a  career  for  me  at  present,  I  really 
think  I  had  better  go  to  college.  I  do  love  pleasure, 
but  somehow  the  sort  of  pleasure  I'm  supposed  to  enjoy 
doesn't  last  ;  and  it's  the  people,  I  think,  that  tire  one 
very  quickly.  It  does  make  a  difference  in  dancing, 
doesn't  it?  —  not  to  hear  an  idea  uttered  during  an  en- 
tire evening  —  not  to  find  anybody  thinking  for  them- 
selves -  " 

"Oh,  Steve!"  laughed  Jim,  "you're  not  expected  to 
think  at  your  age  !  All  that  society  expects  of  you  is 
that  you  chatter  incessantly  during  dinner  and  the 
opera  and  do  your  thinking  in  a  ballroom  with  your 
feet!" 

She  was  laughing,  but  an  unwonted  colour  brightened 
her  cheeks  as  she  turned  on  him  from  the  padded  arm 
of  John  Cleland's  chair,  where  she  had  been  sitting: 

"If  I  really  thought  you  meant  that,  Jim,  I'd  spend 
the  remainder  of  my  life  in  proving  to  you  that  I  have 
a  mind." 

"Never  mind  him,  Steve,"  said  John  Cleland.  "If 
you  wish  to  go  to  college,  you  shall." 

"How  alsout  looking  after  us?"  inquired  Jim, 
alarmed. 

"Dad,  if  my  being  here  is  going  to  make  you  more 
comfortable,"  she  said,  "I'll  remain.  Really,  I  am  se- 
rious. Don't  you  want  me  to  go?" 

"Are  you  really  so  restless,  Steve?" 

"Mentally,"  she  replied,  with  a  defiant  glance  at 
Jim. 

103 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"This  will  be  a  gay  place  to  live  in  if  you  go  off  for 
four  years !"  remarked  that  young  man. 

"You  don't  mean  that  you'd  miss  me !"  she  ex- 
claimed mockingly. 

"Of  course  I'd  miss  you." 

"Miss  the  mental  stimulus  I  give  you  ?" — sweetly  per- 
suasive. 

"Not  at  all.  I'd  miss  the  mental  relaxation  you  af- 
ford my  tired  brain " 

"You  beast !  Dad,  I'm  going!  And  some  day  your 
son  will  find  out  that  it's  an  idle  mind  that  makes  a  girl 
restless ;  not  a  restless  mind  that  makes  her  idle !" 

"I  was  just  teasing,  Steve!" 

"I  know  it."  She  smiled  at  the  young  fellow,  but 
her  grey  eyes  were  brilliant.  Then  she  turned  and 
nestled  against  John  Cleland:  "I  have  made  up  my 
mind,  darling,  and  I  have  decided  to  go  to  Vassar." 

Home,  to  John  Cleland  and  his  son,  had  come  to  mean 
Stephanie  as  much  as  everything  else  under  the  com- 
mon roof-tree. 

For  the  background  of  familiar  things  framed  her 
so  naturally  and  so  convincingly  and  seemed  so  ob- 
viously devised  for  her  in  this  mellow  old  household, 
where  everything  had  its  particular  place  in  an  orderly 
ensemble,  that  when  she  actually  departed  for  college, 
the  routine  became  dislocated,  jarring  everything  above 
and  below  stairs,  and  leaving  two  dismayed  and  ex- 
tremely restless  men. 

"Steve's  going  off  like  this  has  put  the  whole  house 
on  the  blink,"  protested  Jim,  intensely  surprised  to  dis- 
cover the  fact. 

It  nearly  finished  Janet,  whose  voice,  long  afflicted 
with  the  cracked  tremolo  of  age,  now  became  almost  in- 
coherent at  the  very  mention  of  Stephanie's  name. 

104 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Old  Lizzie,  the  laundress,  deeply  disapproving  of 
Stephanie's  departure,  insisted  on  doing  her  linen  and 
sheer  fabrics,  and  sending  a  hamper  once  a  week  to 
Poughkeepsie.  Every  week,  also,  Amanda,  the  cook, 
dispatched  cardboard  boxes  Vassarward,  containing 
condiments  and  culinary  creations  which  she  stubbornly 
refused  to  allow  Cleland  Senior  to  censor. 

"Ay  t'ank  a  leetle  yelly-cake  and  a  leetle  yar  of  yam 
it  will  not  hurt  Miss  Stephanie,"  she  explained  to  Cle- 
land. And  he  said  no  more. 

As  for  Meacham,  he  prowled  noiselessly  about  his 
duties,  little,  shrunken,  round-shouldered,  as  though  no 
dislocation  in  the  family  circle  had  occurred ;  but  every 
day  since  her  departure,  at  Stephanie's  place  a  fresh 
flower  of  some  sort  lay  on  the  cloth  to  match  the  other 
blossom  opposite. 

In  the  library  together,  after  dinner,  father  and  son 
discussed  the  void  which  her  absence  had  created. 

"She'll  get  enough  of  it  and  come  back,"  suggested 
Jim,  but  without  conviction.  "It's  beastly  not  having 
her  about." 

"Perhaps  you  have  a  faint  idea  how  it  was  for  me 
when  you  were  away,"  observed  his  father. 

"I  know.     I  had  to  go  through,  hadn't  I?" 

"Of  course.  .  .  .  But — with  your  mother  gone — 
it  was — lonely.  Do  you  understand,  now,  why  I  took 
Steve  when  I  had  the  chance?" 

The  young  fellow  nodded,  looking  at  his  father^ 

"Of  course  I  understand.  But  I  don't  see  why  Steve 
had  to  go.  She  has  everything  here  to  amuse  her — 
everything  a  girl  could  desire!  Why  the  deuce  should 
she  get  restless  and  go  flying  about  after  knowledge?" 

"Possibly,"  said  John  Cleland,  "the  child  has  a 
mind." 

105 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"A  feminine  one.  Yes,  of  course.  I  tell  you,  Father, 
it's  all  part  and  parcel  of  this  world-wide  restlessness 
which  has  set  women  fidgeting  the  whole  world  over. 
What  is  it  they  want? — because  they  themselves  can't 
tell  you.  Do  you  know?" 

"I  think  I  do.  They  desire  to  exercise  the  liberty  of 
choice." 

"They  have  it  now,  haven't  they?" 

"Virtually.  They're  getting  the  rest.  If  Steve  goes 
through  college  she  will  emerge  to  find  all  paths  open 
to  women.  It  worries  me  a  little." 

Jim  shrugged: 

"What  is  it  she  calls  it — I  mean  her  attitude  about 
choosing  a  career?" 

"She  refers  to  it,  I  believe,  as  'the  necessity  for  self- 
expression.'  ' 

"Fiddle!  The  trouble  with  Steve  is  that  she's  af- 
flicted with  extreme  youth." 

"I  don't  know,  Jim.     She  has  a  mind." 

"It's  a  purely  imitative  one.  People  she  has  read 
about  draw,  write,  compose  music.  Steve  is  sensitive 
to  impression,  high  strung,  with  a  very  receptive  mind ; 
and  the  idea  attracts  her.  And  what  happens?  She 
sees  me,  for  example,  scribbling  away  every  day;  she 
knows  I'm  writing  a  novel ;  it  makes  an  impression  on 
her  and  she  takes  to  scribbling,  too. 

"Oswald  Grismer  drops  in  and  talks  studio  and  at- 
mosphere and  Rodin  and  Manship.  That  stirs  her  up. 
What  occurs  within  twenty-four  hours?  Steve  orders 
a  box  of  colours  and  a  modelling  table ;  and  she  smears 
her  pretty  boudoir  furniture  with  oil  paint  and  plasti- 
cine. And  that's  all  it  amounts  to,  Father,  just  the 
caprice  of  a  very  young  girl  who  thinks  creative  art  a 
romantic  cinch,  and  takes  a  shy  at  it." 

106 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


His  father,  not  smiling,  said: 

"Possibly.  But  the  mere  fact  that  she  does  take  a 
shy  at  these  things — spends  her  leisure  in  trying  to 
paint,  model,  and  write,  when  other  girls  of  her  age 
don't,  worries  me  a  little.  I  do  not  want  her  to  become 
interested  in  any  profession  of  an  irregular  nature.  I 
want  Steve  to  keep  away  from  the  unconventional.  I'm 
afraid  of  it  for  her." 

"Why?" 

"Because  all  intelligence  is  restless — and  Steve  is  very 
intelligent.  All  creative  minds  desire  to  find  some 
medium  for  self-expression.  And  I'm  wondering 
whether  Steve's  mind  is  creative  or  merely  imitative; 
whether  she  is  actually  but  blindly  searching  for  an 
outlet  for  self-expression,  or  whether  it's  merely  the 
healthy  mental  energy  of  a  healthy  body  requiring  its 
share  of  exercise,  too." 

Jim  laughed: 

"It's  in  the  air,  Father,  this  mania  for  'doing  things.' 
It's  the  ridiculous  renaissance  of  the  commonplace,  long 
submerged.  Every  college  youth,  every  school  girl 
writes  a  novel ;  every  janitor,  every  office  boy  a  scenario. 
The  stage  to-day  teems  with  sales-ladies  and  floor- 
walkers ;  the  pants-presser  and  the  manufacturer  of 
ladies'  cloaks  direct  the  newest  art  of  the  moving  pic- 
tures. Printers'  devils  and  ex-draymen  fill  the  papers 
with  their  draughtsmanship;  head-waiters  write  the 
scores  for  musical  productions.  Art  is  in  the  air.  So 
why  shouldn't  Steve  believe  herself  capable  of  creating 
a  few  things?  She'll  get  over  it." 

"I  hope  she  will." 

"She  will.     Steve  is  a  reasonable  child." 

"Steve  is  a  sweet,  intelligent  and  reasonable  girl.  .  v  . 
Very  impressionable.  .  .  .  And  sensitive.  ...  I 

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THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


hope,"  he  added  irrelevantly,  "that  I  shall  live  a  few 
years  more." 

"You  hadn't  contemplated  anything  to  the  con- 
trary, had  you?"  inquired  Jim. 

They  both  smiled.  Then  Cleland  Senior  said  in  his 
pleasant,  even  way: 

"One  can  never  tell.  .  .  .  And  in  case  you  and  Steve 
have  to  plod  along  without  me  some  day,  before  either 
of  you  are  really  wise  enough  to  dispense  with  my  in- 
valuable advice,  try  to  understand  her,  Jim.  Try 
always ;  try  patiently.  .  .  .  Because  I  made  myself 
responsible.  .  .  .  And,  for  all  her  honesty  and  sweet- 
ness and  her  obedience,  Jim,  there  is — perhaps — restless 
blood  in  Steve.  .  .  .  There  may  even  be  the  creative 
instinct  in  her  also.  .  .  .  She's  very  young  to  develop 
it  yet — to  show  whether  it  really  is  there  and  amounts 
to  anything.  ...  I  should  like  to  live  long  enough  to 
see — to  guide  her  for  the  next  few  years " 

"Of  course  you  are  going  to  live  to  see  Steve's  kid- 
dies !"  cried  the  young  fellow  in  cordially  scornful 
protest.  "You  know  perfectly  well,  Father,  that  you 
don't  look  your  age !" 

"Don't  I?"  said  Cleland  Senior,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"And  you  feel  all  right,  don't  you,  Father?"  insisted 
the  boy  in  that  rather  loud,  careless  voice  which  often 
chokes  tenderness  between  men.  For  the  memory  that 
these  two  shared  in  common  made  them  doubly  sensitive 
to  the  lightest  hint  that  everything  was  not  entirely 
right  with  either. 

"Do  you  feel  perfectly  well?"  repeated  the  son,  look- 
ing at  his  father  with  smiling  intentness. 

"Perfectly,"  replied  Cleland  Senior,  lying. 

He  had  another  chat  with  Dr.  Wilmer  the  following 
afternoon.  It  had  been  an  odd  affair,  and  both  physi- 

108 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


cian  and  patient  seemed  to  prefer  to  speculate  about  it 
rather  than  to  come  to  any  conclusion. 

It  was  this.  A  week  or  two  previous,  lying  awake  in 
bed  after  retiring  for  the  night,  Cleland  seemed  to 
lose  consciousness  for  an  interval — probably  a  very 
brief  interval;  and  revived,  presently,  to  find  himself 
upright  on  the  floor  beside  his  bed,  holding  to  one  of 
the  carved  posts,  and  unable  to  articulate. 

He  made  no  effort  to  arouse  anybody;  after  a  while 
— but  how  long  he  seemed  unable  to  remember  clearly — 
he  returned  to  bed  and  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep.  And  in 
the  morning  when  he  awoke,  the  power  of  speech  had 
returned  to  him. 

But  he  felt  irritable,  depressed  and  tired.  That  was 
his  story.  And  the  question  he  had  asked  Dr.  Wilmer 
was  a  simple  one. 

But  the  physician  either  could  not  or  would  not  be 
definite  in  his  answer.  His  reply  was  in  the  nature  of 
a  grave  surmise.  But  the  treatment  ordered  struck 
Cleland  as  ominously  significant. 


CHAPTER  X 

TO  any  young  man  his  first  flirtation  with  Litera- 
ture is  a  heart-rending  affair,  although  the  jade 
takes  it  lightly  enough. 

But  that  muse  is  a  frivolous  youngster  and  plagues 
her  young  lovers  to  the  verge  of  distraction. 

And  no  matter  how  serious  a  new  aspirant  may  be 
or  how  determined  to  remain  free  from  self-conscious- 
ness, refrain  from  traditional  mental  attitudes  and 
censor  every  impulse  toward  "fine  writing,"  his  frivo- 
lous muse  beguiles  him  and  flatters  him,  and  leads 
him  on  until  he  has  succumbed  to  every  deadly 
scribbler's  sin  in  his  riotous  progress  of  a  literary 
rake. 

The  only  hope  for  him  is  that  his  muse  may  some 
day  take  enough  interest  in  him  to  mangle  his  feelings 
and  exterminate  his  adjectives. 

Every  morning  Jim  remained  for  hours  hunched  up 
at  his  table,  fondling  his  first-born  novel.  The  period 
of  weaning  was  harrowing.  Joy,  confidence,  pride,  ex- 
citement, moments  of  mental  intoxication,  were  suc- 
ceeded by  every  species  of  self-distrust,  alarm,  funk, 
slump,  and  most  horrid  depression. 

One  day  he  felt  himself  to  be  easily  master  of  the 
English  language ;  another  day  he  feared  that  a  public 
school  examination  would  reveal  him  as  a  hopeless  il- 
literate. Like  all  beginners,  he  had  swallowed  the  axiom 
that  genius  worked  only  when  it  had  a  few  moments  to 

110 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


spare  from  other  diversions ;  and  he  tried  it  out.  The 
proposition  proved  to  be  a  self-evident  fake. 

It  was  to  his  own  credit  that  he  finally  discovered  that 
inspiration  comes  with  preparedness ;  that  the  proper 
place  for  creative  inspiration  was  a  seat  at  his  desk 
with  pencil  and  pad  before  him;  that  the  pleasure  of 
self-expression  must  become  a  habit  as  well  as  a  pleas- 
ure, and  not  an  occasional  caprice  to  be  casually  grati- 
fied; and  that  technical  excellence  is  acquired  at  the 
daily  work-bench  alone,  and  not  among  the  talkers  of 
talk. 

So  the  boy  began  to  form  his  habit  of  work;  dis- 
covered that  sooner  or  later  a  receptive  mind  resulted ; 
and,  realizing  that  inspiration  came  when  preparations 
for  its  reception  had  been  made,  gradually  got  over  his 
earlier  beliefs  in  the  nonsense  talked  about  genius  and 
the  commercializing  of  the  same.  And  so  he  ceased  get- 
ting out  of  bed  to  record  a  precious  thought,  and  re- 
frained from  sitting  up  until  two  in  the  morning  to 
scribble.  He  plugged  ahead  as  long  as  he  could  stand 
it;  and  late  in  the  afternoon  he  went  out  to  hunt  for 
relaxation,  which,  except  for  the  creative,  is  the  only 
other  known  species  of  true  pleasure. 

Except  for  their  conveniences  as  to  lavatories  and 
bars,  there  are  very  few  clubs  in  New  York  worth  be- 
longing to ;  and  only  one  to  which  it  is  an  honour  to 
belong. 

In  this  club  Cleland  Senior  sat  now,  very  often,  in- 
stead of  pursuing  his  daily  course  among  print-shops, 
auction  rooms,  and  private  collections  of  those  beauti- 
ful or  rare  or  merely  curious  and  interesting  objects 
which  for  many  years  it  had  been  his  pleasure  to  nose 
out  and  sometimes  acquire. 

For  now  that  his  son  was  busy  writing  for  the  greater 

•        111 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


portion  of  the  day,  and  Stephanie  had  gone  away  to 
college,  Cleland  Senior  gradually  became  conscious  of 
a  subtle  change  which  was  beginning  within  himself — 
a  tendency  to  relax  mentally  and  physically — a  vague 
realization  that  his  work  in  life  had  been  pretty  nearly 
accomplished  and  that  it  was  almost  time  to  rest. 

With  this  conviction  came  a  tendency  to  depression, 
inclination  for  silence  and  retrospection,  not  entirely 
free  from  melancholy.  Not  unnoticed  by  his  physician, 
either,  who  had  arrived  at  his  own  conclusions.  The 
medical  treatment,  however,  continued  on  the  same  lines 
sketched  out  by  the  first  prescriptions,  except  that  all 
narcotics  and  stimulants  were  forbidden. 

John  Cleland  now  made  it  a  custom  to  go  every  day 
to  his  club,  read  in  the  great,  hushed  library,  gossip 
with  the  older  members,  perhaps  play  a  game  of  chess 
with  some  friend  of  his  early  youth,  lunch  there  with 
ancient  cronies,  sometimes  fall  asleep  in  one  of  the  great, 
deep  chairs  in  the  lounging  hall.  And,  as  he  had  always 
been  constitutionally  moderate,  the  physician's  edict  de- 
priving him  of  his  cigar  and  his  claret  annoyed  him 
scarcely  at  all.  Always  he  returned  to  the  home  on 
80th  Street,  when  his  only  son  was  likely  to  be  free 
from  work;  and  together  they  dined  at  home,  or  more 
rarely  at  Delmonico's ;  and  sometimes  they  went  to- 
gether to  some  theatre  or  concert. 

For  they  were  nearer  to  each  other  than  they  had 
ever  been  in  their  lives  during  those  quiet  autumn  and 
winter  days  together ;  and  they  shared  every  thought — 
almost  every  thought — only  Cleland  had  never  spoken 
to  his  son  about  the  medicine  he  was  taking  regularly, 
nor  of  that  odd  experience  when  he  had  found  himself 
standing  dazed  and  speechless  by  his  own  bed  in  the  si- 
lence and  darkness  of  early  morning. 

112      • 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Stephanie  came  back  at  Christmas — a  lovely  sur- 
prise— a  supple,  grey-eyed  young  thing,  grown  an  inch 
and  a  half  taller,  flower-fresh,  instinct  with  the  intoxi- 
cating vigour  and  delight  of  mere  living,  and  tremulous 
with  unuttered  and  very  youthful  ideas  about  every- 
thing on  earth. 

She  kissed  Cleland  Senior,  clung  to  him,  caressed 
him.  But  for  the  first  time  her  demonstration  ended 
there ;  she  offered  her  hand  to  Jim  in  flushed  and  slightly 
confused  silence. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Steve?"  demanded  the 
youth,  half  laughing,  half  annoyed.  "You  think  you're 

too  big  to  kiss  me?     By  Jove,  you  shall  kiss  me !" 

And  he  summarily  saluted  her. 

She  got  away  from  him  immediately  with  an  odd  little 
laugh,  and  held  tightly  to  Cleland  Senior  again. 

"Dad  darling,  darling!"  she  murmured,  "I'm  glad 
I'm  back.  Are  you?  Do  you  really  want  me?  And 
I'm  going  to  tell  you  right  now,  I  don't  wish  to  have 
you  arrange  parties  and  dinners  and  dances  and  things 
for  me.  All  I  want  is  to  be  with  you  and  go  to  the 
theatre  every  night " 

"Good  Lord,  Steve !  That's  no  programme  for  a 
pretty  little  girl !" 

"I'm  not!  Don't  call  me  that!  I've  got  a  mind! 
But  I  have  got  such  lots  to  learn — so  many,  many  things 
to  learn !  And  only  one  life  to  learn  them  in " 

"Fiddle !"  remarked  Jim. 

"It  really  isn't  fiddle,  Jim!  I'm  just  crazy  to  learn 
things,  and  I'm  not  one  bit  interested  in  frivolity  and 
ordinary  things  and  people " 

"You  liked  people  once ;  you  liked  to  dance " 

"When  I  was  a  child,  yes,"  she  retorted  scornfully. 
"But  I  realize,  now,  how  short  life  is " 

113 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Fiddle,"  repeated  Jim.  "That  fool  college  is  spoil- 
ing you  for  fair !" 

"Dad !  He's  a  brute !  You  understand  me,  darling, 
don't  you  ?  Don't  let  him  plague  me." 

His  arm  around  her  slender  shoulder  tightened;  all 
three  were  laughing. 

"You  don't  have  to  dance,  Steve,  if  you  don't  want 
to,"  he  said.  "Do  you  consider  it  frivolous  to  dine  oc- 
casionally? Meacham  has  just  announced  the  possibil- 
ity of  food." 

She  nestled  close  to  him  as  they  went  out  to  dinner, 
all  three  very  gay  and  loquacious,  and  the  two  men 
keenly  conscious  of  the  girl's  rapid  development,  of  the 
serious  change  in  her,  the  scarcely  suppressed  exuber- 
ance, the  sparkling  and  splendid  bodily  vitality. 

As  they  entered  the  dining  room: 

"Oh,  Meacham,  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  she  cried  im- 
pulsively, taking  the  little  withered  man's  hands  into 
both  of  hers. 

There  was  no  reply,  only  in  the  burnt-out  eyes  a 
sudden  mist — the  first  since  his  mistress  had  passed 
away. 

"Dad,  do  you  mind  if  I  run  down  a  moment  to  see 
Lizzie  and  Janet  and  Amanda?  Dear,  I'll  be  right 
back —  She  was  gone,  light-footed,  eager,  down 

the  service  stairs — a  child  again  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye.  The  two  men,  vaguely  smiling,  remained 
standing. 

When  she  returned,  Meacham  seated  her.  She  picked 
up  the  blossom  beside  her  plate,  saw  the  other  at 
the  unoccupied  place  opposite,  and  her  eyes  suddenly 
filled. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  she  kissed  the 
petals  and  placed  the  flower  in  her  hair. 

114 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"My  idea,"  she  began,  cheerfully,  "is  to  waste  no 
time  in  life!  So  I  think  I'd  like  to  go  to  the  theatre 
all  the  time " 

The  men's  laughter  checked  her  and  she  joined  in. 

"You  do  understand,  both  of  you!"  she  insisted. 
"You're  tormenting  me  and  you  know  it!  I  don't  go 
to  the  theatre  to  amuse  nryself.  I  go  to  inform  myself 
— to  learn,  study,  improve  myself  in  the  art  of  self- 
expression — Jim,  you  are  a  beast  to  grin  at  me !" 

"Steve,  for  Heaven's  sake,  be  a  human  girl  for  a 
few  moments  and  have  a  good  time !" 

"That's  my  way  of  having  a  good  time.  I  wish  to 
go  to  studios  and  see  painters  and  sculptors  at  work! 
I  wish  to  go  to  plays  and  concerts " 

"How  about  seeing  a  real  author  at  work,  Steve?" 

"You?"  she  divined  with  a  dainty  sniff. 

"Certainly.  Come  up  any  morning  and  watch  genius 
work  a  lead-pencil.  That  ought  to  educate  you  and 
leave  an  evening  or  two  for  dancing " 

"Jim,  I  positively  do  not  care  for  parties.  I  don't 
even  desire  to  waste  one  minute  of  my  life.  Ordinary 
people  bore  me,  I  tell  you " 

"Do  I?" 

"Sometimes,"  she  retorted,  with  delighted  malice. 
And  turning  swiftly  to  Cleland  Senior:  "As  for  you, 
darling,  I  could  spend  every  minute  of  my  whole  ex- 
istence with  you  and  not  be  bored  for  one  second !" 

The  claret  in  John  Cleland's  glass — claret  forbidden 
under  Dr.  Wilmer's  regime — glowed  like  a  ruby.  But 
he  could  not  permit  Stephanie  to  return  without  that 
old-fashioned  formality. 

So  John  Cleland  rose,  glass  in  hand,  his  hair  and 
moustache  very  white  against  the  ruddy  skin. 

"Steve,  dear,  you  and  Jim  have  never  brought  me 

115 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


anything  but  happiness — anything  but  honour  to  my 
name  and  to  my  roof.  We  welcome  you  home,  dear, 
to  your  own  place  among  your  own  people.  Jim — we 
have  the  honour — our  little  Stephanie!  Welcome 
kome !" 

The  young  fellow  rose,  smiling,  and  bowed  gaily  to 
Stephanie. 

"Welcome  home,"  he  said,  "dearest  of  sisters  and 
most  engaging  insurgent  of  your  restless  sex!" 

That  night  Stephanie  seemed  possessed  of  a  gay 
demon  of  demonstrative  mischief.  She  conversed  with 
Jim  so  seriously  about  his  authorship  that  at  first  he 
did  not  realize  that  he  was  an  object  of  sarcastic  and 
delighted  malice.  When  he  did  comprehend  that  she 
was  secretly  laughing  at  him,  he  turned  so  red  with 
surprise  and  indignation  that  his  father  and  Stephanie 
gave  way  to  helpless  laughter.  Seated  there  on  the 
sofa  across  the  room,  tense,  smiling,  triumphantly  and 
delightfully  dangerous,  she  blew  an  airy  kiss  at  Jim : 

"That  will  teach  you  to  poke  fun  at  me,"  she  said. 
"You're  no  longer  an  object  of  fear  and  veneration  just 
because  you're  writing  a  book!" 

The  young  fellow  laughed. 

"I  am  easy,"  he  admitted.  "All  authors  are  without 
honour  in  their  own  families.  But  wouldn't  it  surprise 
you,  Steve,  if  the  world  took  my  book  respectfully  ?" 

"Not  at  all.  That's  one  of  the  reasons  /  don't.  The 
opinion  of  ordinary  people  does  not  concern  me,"  she 
said  with  gay  impudence,  "and  if  your  book  is  a  best 
seller  it  ought  to  worry  you,  Jim." 

"You  don't  think,"  he  demanded  sadly,  "that  there's 
anything  in  me?" 

"Oh,  Jim!" — swiftly  remorseful — "I  was  joking,  of 
course."  And,  seeing  by  his  grin  that  he  was,  too, 

116 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


turned  up  her  nose,  regretting  too  late  her  hasty  and 
warm-hearted  remorse. 

"How  common,  this  fishing  for  praise  and  sym- 
pathy!" she  remarked  disdainfully.  "Dad,  does  he 
bother  you  to  death  trying  to  read  his  immortal  lines 
to  you  at  inopportune  moments?" 

Cleland  Senior,  in  his  arm-chair,  white-haired,  deeply 
ruddy,  had  been  laughing  during  the  bantering  passage 
at  arms  between  the  two  he  loved  best  on  earth. 

He  seemed  the  ideal  personification  of  hale  and  whole- 
some age,  sound  as  a  bell,  very  handsome,  save  that  the 
flush  on  his  face  seemed  rather  heavier  and  deeper  than 
the  usual  healthy  colour. 

"Dad,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  impulsively,  "you  cer- 
tainly are  the  best-looking  thing  in  all  New  York!  I 
don't  think  I  shall  permit  you  to  go  walking  alone  all 
by  yourself  any  more.  Do  }rou  hear  me?" 

She  sprang  up  lightly,  went  over  and  seated  herself 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  murmuring  close  to  his  face  gay 
little  jests,  odd,  quaint  endearments,  all  sorts  of  non- 
sense while  she  smoothed  his  hair  to  her  satisfaction, 
re-tied  his  evening  tie,  patted  his  lapels,  and  finally 
kissed  him  lightly  between  his  eyebrows,  continuing  her 
murmured  nonsense  all  the  while: 

"I  won't  have  other  women  looking  sideways  at  you 
— the  hussies !  I'm  jealous.  I  shall  hereafter  walk  out 
with  you.  Do  you  hear  what  I  threaten? — you  very 
flighty  and  deceitful  man !  Steve  is  going  to  chaperon 
you  everywhere  you  go." 

John  Cleland's  smile  altered  subtly: 

"Not  everywhere,  Steve." 

"Indeed,  I  shall !    Every  step  you  take." 

"No,  dear." 

"Why  not?" 

117 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Because — there  is  one  rather  necessary  trip  I  shall 
have  to  make — some  day " 

A  moment's  silence ;  then  her  arms  around  his  neck : 

"Dad !"  she  whispered,  in  breathless  remonstrance. 

"Yes,  dear?" 

"Don't  you—feel  well?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Then,"  fiercely,  "don't  dare  hint  such  things !" 

"About  the — journey  I  spoke  of?"  he  asked,  smiling. 

"Yes  !  Don't  say  such  a  thing !  You  are  not  going ! 
— until  I  go,  too !" 

"If  I  c»uld  postpone  the  trip  on  your  account " 

"Dad!  Do  you  want  to  break  my  heart  and  kill  me 
by  such  jokes?" 

"There,  Steve,  I  was  merely  teasing.  Men  of  my  age 
have  a  poor  way  of  joking  sometimes.  ...  I  mean  to 
postpone  that  trip.  Indeed,  I  do,  Steve.  You're  a 
handful,  and  I've  got  to  keep  hold  of  you  for  a  long 
while  yet." 

Jim  overheard  that  much: 

"A  handful?  Rubbish!"  he  remarked.  "Send  her 
to  bed  at  nine  for  the  next  few  years  and  be  careful 
about  her  diet  and  censor  her  reading  matter.  That's 
all  Steve  needs  to  become  a  real  grown-up  some  day." 

Stephanie  had  risen  to  face  the  shafts  of  good-na- 
tured sarcasm. 

"Suppose,"  she  said,  "that  I  told  you  I  had  sent  a 
poem  to  a  certain  magazine  and  that  it  had  been  ac- 
cepted?" 

"I'd  say  very  amiably  that  you  are  precocious,"  he 
replied  tormentingly. 

"Brute !    I  did!    I  sent  it !" 

"They  accepted  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  admitted,  pink  with  annoyance ; 

118 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"but  it  won't  surprise  me  very  much  if  they  accept  it. 
Really,  Jim,  do  you  think  nobody  else  can  write  any- 
thing worth  considering?  Do  you  really  believe  that 
you  embody  all  the  talent  in  New  York?  Do  you?" 
And,  to  Cleland  Senior:  "Oh,  Dad,  isn't  he  the  horrid 
personification  of  everything  irritatingly  masculine? 
And  I'll  bet  his  old  novel  is  perfectly  commonplace.  I 
think  I'll  go  up  to  his  room  and  take  a  critical  glance 
at  it " 

"Hold  on,  Steve !"  he  exclaimed — for  she  was  already 
going.  She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  with  a  defiant 
smile,  and  he  sprang  up  to  follow  and  overtake  her. 

But  Stephanie's  legs  were  long  and  her  feet  light 
and  swift,  and  she  was  upstairs  and  inside  his  room  be- 
fore he  caught  her,  reaching  for  the  sacred  manuscript. 

"Oh,  Jim,"  she  coaxed,  beguilingly,  "do  let  me  have 
one  little  peep  at  it,  there's  a  dear  fellow!  Just  one 
little " 

"Not  yet,  Steve.  It  isn't  in  any  shape.  Wait  till 
it's  typed " 


"I  don't  care.     I  can  read  your  writing  easily- 


"It's  all  scored  and  cross-written  and  messed 
up " 

"Please,  Jim !  I'm  simply  half  dead  with  curiosity," 
she  admitted.  "Be  an  angel  brother  and  let  me  sit  here 
and  hear  you  read  the  first  chapter — only  one  little 
chapter.  Won't  you?"  she  pleaded  with  melting  sweet- 
ness. 

"I — I'd  be — embarrassed " 

"What !  To  have  your  own  sister  hear  what  you've 
written?" 

There  was  a  short  silence.  The  word  "sister"  was 
meant  to  be  reassuring  to  both.  To  use  it  came  instinc- 
tively to  her  as  an  inspiration,  partly  because  she  had 

119 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


vaguely  felt  that  some  confirmation  of  such  matter- 
of-fact  relationship  would  put  them  a  little  more  per- 
fectly at  their  ease  with  each  other. 

For  they  had  not  been  entirely  at  their  ease.  Both 
were  subtly  aware  of  that — she  had  first  betrayed  it  by 
her  offered  hand  instead  of  the  friendly  and  sisterly 
Idss  which  had  been  a  matter  of  course  until  now. 

"Come,"  she  said,  gaily,  "be  a  good  child  and  read 
the  pretty  story  to  little  sister." 

She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  his  bed;  he,  already 
seated  at  his  desk,  frowned  at  the  pile  of  manuscript 
before  him. 

"I'd  rather  talk,"  he  said. 

"About  what?" 

"Anything.  Honestly,  Steve,  I'll  let  you  see  it  when 
it's  typed.  But  I  rather  hate  to  show  anything  until 
it's  done — I  don't  like  to  have  people  see  the  raw  edges 
and  the  machinery." 

"I'm  not  'people.'  How  horrid.  Also,  it  makes  a 
difference  when  a  girl  is  not  only  your  sister  but  also 
somebody  who  intends  to  devote  her  life  to  artistic  self- 
expression.  You  can  read  your  story  to  that  kind  of 
girl,  I  should  hope !" 

"Haven't  you  given  that  up?" 

"Given  up  what?" 

"That  mania  for  self-expression,  as  you  call  it." 

"Of  course  not." 

"What  do  you  think  you  want  to  do?"  he  asked  un- 
easily. 

"Jim,  you  are  entirely  too  patronizing.  I  don't 
'think'  I  want  to  do  anything:  but  I  know  I  desire  to 
find  some  medium  for  self-expression  and  embrace  it 
as  a  profession." 

That  rather  crushed  him  for  a  moment.     Then: 

120 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"There'll  be  time  enough  to  start  that  question  when 
you  graduate " 

"It  is  not  a  question.  I  intend  to  express  myself 
some  day.  And  you  might  as  well  reconcile  yourself 
to  that  idea." 

"Suppose  you  haven't  anything  worth  expressing?'* 

"Are  you  teasing?"     She  flushed  slightly. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  I  am  teasing  you.  But,  Stevet 
neither  father  nor  I  want  to  see  you  enter  any  uncon^ 
ventional  profession.  It's  no  good  for  a  girl  unless 
she  is  destined  for  it  by  a  talent  that  amounts  to  genius. 
If  3rou  have  that,  it  ought  to  show  by  the  time  you 
graduate " 

"You  make  me  simply  furious,  Jim,"  she  retorted  im- 
patiently. "These  few  months  at  college  have  taught 
me  something.  And,  for  one  thing,  I've  learned  that  a 
girl  has  exactly  as  much  right  as  a  man  to  live  her  own 
life  in  her  own  way,  unfettered  by  worn-out  conven- 
tions and  unhampered  by  man's  critical  opinions  con- 
cerning her  behaviour. 

"The  dickens,"  he  remarked,  and  whistled  softly. 

"And,  further,"  she  continued  warmly,  "I  am  aston- 
ished that  in  this  age,  when  the  entire  world  tacitly 
admits  that  woman  is  man's  absolute  equal  in  every 
respect,  that  you  apparently  still  harbour  old-fash- 
ioned, worn-out  and  silly  notions.  You  are  very  far 
out  of  date,  my  charming  brother." 

"What  notions?"  he  demanded. 

"Notions  that  a  girl's  mission  is  to  go  to  parties  and 
dance  when  she  doesn't  desire  to — that  a  girl  had  better 
conform  to  the  uninteresting  and  stilted  laws  of  the 
recent  past  and  live  her  life  as  an  animated  clothes-rack, 
mind  her  deportment,  and  do  what  nice  girls  do,  and 
marry  and  become  the  mother  of  numerous  offspring 

121 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


which  shall  be  taught  to  follow  in  her  footsteps  and  do 
the  same  thing  all  over  again,  generation  after  genera- 
tion— ad  nauseam! Oh,  Jim !  I'm  not  going  to 

live  out  my  life  that  way  and  be  looked  after  as  care- 
fully as  a  pedigreed  Pekinese " 

"For  Heaven's  sake " 

"For  Heaven's  sake — yes  ! — and  in  God's  name,  Jim, 
it  is  time  that  a  woman's  mind  was  occupied  by  some- 
thing beside  the  question  of  clothes  and  husbands  and 
children !" 

The  boy  whistled  softly,  stared  at  her,  and  she 
looked  at  him  unflinchingly,  with  her  pretty,  breathless 
smile  of  defiance. 

"I  want  to  live  my  own  life  in  my  own  way.  Can't  I  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Of  course =" 

"You  say  that.  But  the  instant  I  venture  to  express 
a  desire  for  any  outlet — for  any  chance  to  be  myself, 
express  myself,  seek  the  artistic  means  for  self-utter- 
ance, then  you  tell  me  I  am  unconventional !" 

He  was  silent. 

"Nobody  hampers  you!"  she  flashed  out.  "You  are 
free  to  choose  your  profession." 

"But  why  do  you  want  a  profession,  Steve?" 

"Why?  Because  I  feel  the  need  of  it.  Because  just 
ordinary  society  does  not  interest  me.  I  prefer  Bo- 
hemia." 

He  said: 

"There's  a  lot  of  stuff  talked  about  studios  and  at- 
mosphere and  'urge'  and  general  Bohemian  irresponsi- 
bility— and  a  young  girl  is  apt  to  get  a  notion  that  she, 
also,  experiences  the  'cosmic  urge'  and  that  'self-expres- 
sion' is  her  middle  name.  .  .  .  That's  all  I  mean,  Steve. 
You  frequently  have  voiced  your  desire  for  a  career 

122 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


among  the  fine  arts.  Now  and  then  you  have  conde- 
scended to  sketch  for  me  your  idea  of  an  ideal  environ- 
ment, which  appears  to  be  a  studio  in  studio  disorder, 
art  produced  in  large  chunks,  and  'people  worth  while' 
loudly  attacking  pianos  and  five  o'clock  tea " 

"Jim!  You  are  not  nice  to  me.  ...  If  I  didn't 
love  you  with  all  my  heart " 

"It's  because  I'm  fond  of  you,  too,"  he  explained. 
"I  don't  want  my  sister,  all  over  clay  or  paint,  sitting 
in  a  Greenwich  village  studio,  smoking  cigarettes  and 
frying  sausages  for  lunch !  No !  Or  I  don't  want  her 
bullied  by  an  ignorant  stage  director  or  leered  at  by 
an  animal  who  plays  'opposite,'  or  insulted  by  a  Semitic 
manager.  Is  that  very  astonishing?" 

The  girl  rose,  nervous,  excited,  but  laughing: 

"You  dear  old  out-of-date  thing !  We'll  continue  this 
discussion  another  time.'  Dad's  been  alone  in  the  library 
altogether  too  long."  She  laughed  again,  a  little  hint 
of  tenderness  in  her  gaiety ;  and  extended  her  hand.  He 
took  it. 

"Without  prejudice,"  she  said.     "I  adore  you,  Jim !" 

"And  with  all  my  heart,  Steve.  I  just  want  you  to 
do  what  will  be  best  for  you,  little  sister." 

"I  know.  Thank  you,  Jim.  Now,  we'll  go  and  find 
dad." 

They  found  him.  He  lay  on  the  thick  Oushak  rug  at 
the  foot  of  the  chair  in  which  he  had  been  seated  when 
they  left  him. 

On  his  lips  lingered  a  slight  smile. 

A  physician  lived  across  the  street.  When  he  ar- 
rived his  examination  was  brief  and  perfunctory.  He 
merely  said  that  the  stroke  had  come  like  a  bolt  of 
lightning,  then  turned  his  attention  to  Stephanie,  who 
seemed  to  be  sorely  in  need  of  it. 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"We  didn't  discuss  your  friendship  for  each  other, 
Mr.  Grismer."  she  snapped  out.     "Our  subject  of  con- 
versation concerned  money." 
"Ma'am?" 

"An  inheritance,  in  fact,  which,  I  believe,  you  allege 
that  you  legally  converted  to  your  own  uses,"  she 
added,  staring  at  him. 

They  sustained  each  other's  gaze  in  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

Then  Grismer's  large,  dry  hand  crept  up  over  his  lips 
and  began  a  rhythmical  massage  of  the  grim  jaw. 

"My  friend  of  many  years  and  I  came  to  an  under- 
standing in  regard  to  the  painful  matter  which  you 
have  mentioned,"  he  said  slowly. 

"Yes?" 

"Absolutely,  Madame.  Out  of  his  abundance,  I  was 
given  to  understand,  he  had  bountifully  provided  for 
your  niece — m-m-m'yes,  bounteously  provided.  Fur- 
ther, he  gave  me  to  understand  that  you,  Madame,  out 
of  the  abundant  wealth  with  which  our  Lord  has  blessed 
you,  had  indicated  your  resolution  to  provide  for  the 
young  lady." 

There  was  an  uncanny  gleam  in  Miss  Quest's  eyes. 
But  she  said  nothing.  Grismer,  watching  her,  softly 
joined  the  tips  of  his  horny  fingers. 

"M-m'yes.  Quite  so.  My  friend  of  many  years  vol- 
untarily assured  me  that  he  did  not  contemplate  re- 
opening the  unfortunate  matter  in  question — in  point  of 
fact,  Madame,  he  gave  me  his  solemn  promise  never  to 
initiate  any  such  action  in  behalf  of  the  young  lady." 

Miss  Quest  remained  mute. 

"And  John  Cleland  was  right,  Madame,"  continued 
Grismer  in  a  gentle,  persuasive  voice,  "because  any  such 
litigation  must  prove  not  only  costly  but  fruitless  of  re- 

126 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


suit.  The  unfortunate  and  undesirable  publicity  of 
such  a  case,  if  brought  to  trial,  could  not  vindicate  my 
own  rectitude  and  the  righteousness  of  my  cause  while 
gossip  and  scandal  cruelly  destroyed  the  social  position 
which  the  young  lady  at  present  enjoys." 

After  another  silence  : 

"Well?"  inquired  Miss  Quest,  "is  there  anything  more 
that  worries  you,  Mr.  Grismer?" 

"Worries  me,  Madame?  I  am  not  disturbed  in  the 
slightest  degree." 

"Oh,  yes  you  are.  You  are  not  disturbed  over  any 
possible  scandal  that  might  affect  my  niece,  but  you 
are  horribly  afraid  of  any  disgrace  to  yourself.  And 
that  is  why  you  come  into  this  house  of  death  while 
your  'friend  of  many  years'  is  still  lying  in  his  coffin ! 
That  is  why  you  come  prowling  to  find  out  whether  I 
am  as  much  a  lady  in  my  way  as  he  was  a  gentleman  in 
his.  That's  all  that  disturbs  you !" 

"Madame " 

"Or,  to  put  it  plainer,  you  want  to  know  whether  you 
have  to  defend  an  action,  civil  perhaps,  possibly  crim- 
inal, charging  you  with  mal-administration  and  illegal 
conversion  of  trust  funds.  That's  all  that  worries  you, 
isn't  it?  Well — worry  then!"  she  added  venomously. 

"Do  I  understand " 

"No,  you  don't  understand,  Mr.  Grismer.  And  that's 
another  thing  for  you  to  worry  over.  You  don't  know 
v,-hat  I'm  going  to  do,  or  whether  I  am  going  to  do  any- 
thing at  all.  You  may  find  out  in  a  week — you  may 
rot  find  out  for  years.  And  it  is  going  to  worry  you 
minute  of  your  life." 

She  marched  to  the  staircase  hall: 

"Mcacham?" 

"Ma'am?" 

127 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Mr.  Grismer's  hat!" 

Jim,  seated  beside  the  bed  where  Stephanie  lay  in  the 
darkened  room,  her  tear-marred  face  buried  in  her 
pillow,  heard  the  front  door  close.  Then  silence  reigned 
ugain  in  the  twilight  of  the  house  of  Cleland. 

Miss  Quest  peeped  into  the  room,  then  withdrew.  If 
the  young  fellow  heard  her  at  all  he  made  no  movement, 
so  still,  so  intent  had  he  been  since  his  father's  death  in 
striving  to  visualize  the  familiar  face.  And  found  to 
his  astonishment  and  grief  that  he  could  not  mentally 
summon  his  father's  image  before  his  eyes — could  not 
flog  the  shocked  brain  to  evoke  the  beloved  features. 
The  very  effort  was  becoming  an  agony  to  him. 

It  began  to  rain  about  four  o'clock.  It  rained  hard 
all  night  long  on  the  resounding  scuttle  and  roof  over- 
head. Toward  dawn  the  rain  ceased  and  the  dark 
world  grew  noisy.  There  was  a  cat-fight  on  the  back 
fence.  The  car  wheels  on  Madison  Avenue  seemed  un- 
usually dissonant.  Very  far  away,  foggy  river  whistles 
saluted  the  dawn  of  another  day. 

There  were  a  great  many  people  at  the  funeral.  God 
knows  the  dead  are  indifferent  to  such  attroupements 
macabre,  but  it  seems  to  satisfy  some  morbid  require- 
ment in  the  living — friends,  a  priest,  and  a  passing 
bell. 

Hoc  erat  in  more  ma  jorum:  hodie  tibi;  eras  mihi. 

The  family — Jim,  Stephanie  and  Miss  Quest — sat  to- 
gether, as  is  customary.  The  church  was  bathed  in 
tinted  sunlight  streaming  through  stained  glass  and 
falling  over  casket  and  flowers  in  glowing  hues.  The 
dyed  splendour  painted  pew  and  chancel  and  stained 
Stephanie's  black  veil  with  crimson.  Behind  them  a 
discreet  but  interminable  string  of  many  people  con- 
tinued. 

128 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


When  the  first  creeping  note  of  the  organ,  ominous 
and  low,  grew  out  of  the  silence,  young  Cleland  felt 
Stephanie  sway  a  little  and  remain  resting  against  his 
shoulder.  After  a  moment  he  realized  that  the  girl  had 
lost  consciousness  ;  and  he  quietly  passed  his  arm  around 
her,  holding  her  firmly  until  she  revived  and  moved 
again. 

As  for  himself,  what  was  passing  before  him  seemed 
like  a  shadow  scene  enacted  behind  darkened  glass. 
There  was  nothing  real  about  it,  nothing  that  seemed 
to  appertain  in  any  way  to  this  dead  father  who  had 
been  a  comrade  and  beloved  friend.  He  looked  at  the 
casket,  at  the  massed  flowers,  at  the  altar,  the  sur- 
plices. All  were  foreign  to  the  intensely  human  father 
he  had  loved — nothing  here  seemed  to  be  in  harmony 
with  him — not  the  crawling  vibration  of  the  organ,  not 
the  resonant,  professional  droning  of  the  clergy;  not 
these  throngs  of  unseen  people  behind  his  back, — not 
the  black  garments  he  wore;  not  this  slender,  sombre, 
drooping  thing  of  crape  seated  here  close  beside  him, 
trembling  at  intervals,  with  one  black-gloved  hand  grip- 
ping his. 

A  sullen  hatred  for  it  all  began  to  possess  him.  All 
this  was  interrupting  him — actually  making  it  harder 
than  ever  for  him  to  visualize  his  father — driving  the 
beloved  phantom  out  from  its  familiar  environment  in 
his  heart  into  unrecognizable  surroundings  full  of  cas- 
kets, pallid,  heavy-scented  flowers,  surpliced  clergymen 
whose  cadenced  phrases  were  accurately  timed;  whose 
every  move  and  gesture  showed  them  to  be  quite  perfect 
in  the  "business"  of  the  act. 

"Hell,"  he  muttered  under  his  breath;  and  became 
aware  of  Stephanie's  white  face  and  startled  eyes. 

"Nothing,"  he  whispered;  "only  I  can't  stand  this 

129 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


mummery !  I  want  to  get  back  to  the  library  where  I 
can  be  with  father.  .  .  .  He  isn't  in  that  black  and 
silver  thing  over  there.  He  isn't  in  any  orthodox  para- 
dise. He's  part  of  the  sunlight  out  doors — and  the 
spring  air.  .  .  .  He's  an  immortal  part  of  everything 
beautiful  that  ever  was.  When  these  people  conclude 
to  let  him  alone,  I'll  have  a  chance  with  him.  .  .  .  You 
think  I'm  crazy,  Steve?" 

Her  pale  lips  formed  "No." 

They  remained  silent  after  that  until  the  end,  their 
tense  fingers  interlocked.  Miss  Quest's  head  remained 
bowed  in  the  folds  of  her  crape  veil. 

The  drive  from  the  cemetery  began  through  the  level, 
rosy  rays  of  a  declining  sun,  and  ended  in  soft  spring 
darkness  full  of  the  cheery  noises  of  populous  streets. 

Cleland  had  dreaded  to  enter  the  house  as  they  drew 
near  to  it ;  its  prospective  emptiness  appalled  him ;  but 
old  Meacham  had  lighted  every  light  all  over  the  house ; 
and  it  seemed  to  help,  somehow. 

Miss  Quest  went  with  Stephanie  to  her  room,  leav- 
ing Jim  in  the  library  alone. 

Strange,  irrelevant  thoughts  came  to  the  boy's  mind 
to  assail  him,  torment  him  with  their  futility :  he  remem- 
bered several  things  which  he  had  forgotten  to  tell  his 
father — matters  of  no  consequence  which  now  suddenly 
assumed  agonizing  importance. 

There  in  the  solitude  of  the  library,  he  remembered, 
among  other  things,  that  his  father  would  never  read 
his  novel,  now.  Why  had  he  waited,  wishing  to  have  it 
entirely  finished  before  his  father  should  read  this  first 
beloved  product  of  his  eager  pen? 

Stephanie  found  him  striding  about  the  library,  lips 
distorted,  quivering  with  swelling  grief. 

"Oh,  Steve,"  he  said,  seeing  her  in  the  doorway,  "I 

130 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


am  beginning  to  realize  that  I  can't  talk  to  him  any 
more !    I  can't  touch  him — I  can't  talk — hear  his  voice 

"Jim— don't " 

"The  whole  world  is  no  good  to  me  now!"  cried  the 
boy,  flinging  up  his  arms  in  helpless  resentment  toward 
whatever  had  done  this  thing  to  him. 

Whatever  had  done  it  offered  no  excuse. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  reading  of  John  Cleland's  will  marked  the 
beginning  of  the  end  of  the  old  regime  for  Ste- 
phanie Quest  and  for  James  Cleland. 
Two  short  letters  accompanied  the  legal  document. 
All  the  papers  were  of  recent  date. 

The  letter  directed  to  Jim  was  almost  blunt  in  its 
brevity : 

MY  DEAR  SON: 

I  have  had  what  I  believe  to  have  been  two  slight  shocks 
of  paralysis.  If  I  am  right,  and  another  shock  proves  fatal, 
I  wish  you,  after  my  death,  to  go  abroad  and  travel  and 
study  for  the  next  two  years.  At  the  end  of  that  period 
you  ought  to  know  whether  or  not  you  really  desire  to  make 
literature  your  profession.  If  you  do,  come  back  to  your 
own  country  and  go  to  work.  Europe  is  a  good  school,  but 
you  should  practise  your  profession  in  your  native  land. 

Keep  straight,  fit,  and  clean.  Keep  your  head  in  ad- 
versity and  in  success.  Find  out  what  business  in  life  you 
are  fitted  for,  equip  yourself  for  it,  and  then  go  into  it  with 
all  your  heart. 

I've  left  you  some  money  and  a  good  name.  And  my 
deep,  abiding  love.  My  belief  is  that  death  is  merely  an  in- 
termission. So  your  mother  and  I  will  rejoin  you  when  the 
next  act  begins.  Until  then,  old  chap — good  luck! 

FATHER. 

To  Stephanie  he  wrote: 

STEVE,  DEAR: 

You  have  been  wonderful!  I'm  sorry  I  couldn't  stay  to 
see  you  a  little  further  along  the  path  of  life.  I  love  you 
dearly. 

132 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Your  aunt,  Miss  Quest,  understands  my  wishes.  During 
the  two  years  that  Jim  is  abroad,  Miss  Quest  is  to  assume 
the  necessary  and  natural  authority  over  you.  I  have  every 
confidence  in  her.  Besides,  she  is  legally  qualified  to  act. 

It  is  her  desire  and  mine  that  you  finish  college.  But  if 
you  really  find  yourself  unhappy  tHbre  after  the  term  is  fin- 
ished, then  it  is  Miss  Quest's  belief  and  mine  also  that  you 
employ  the  period  that  otherwise  should  have  spent  at  Vassar, 
in  acquiring  some  regular  and  legitimate  profession  so  that 
if  ever  the  need  comes  you  shall  be  able  to  take  care  of 
yourself. 

Miss  Quest  is  inclined  to  think  that  a  course  in  hospital 
training  under  her  direct  supervision  might  prove  acceptable 
to  you.  This  you  could  have  in  the  institution  endowed  by 
Miss  Quest  at  Bayport. 

Perhaps  such  a  course  may  appeal  to  you  more  than  a 
college  education.  If  so,  I  shall  not  be  dissatisfied. 

But  after  that,  if  you  still  feel  that  your  life's  work  lies  in 
the  direction  of  artistic  self-expression,  you  will  be  old  enough 
to  follow  your  own  bent,  and  entitled  to  employ  your  oppor- 
tunities toward  that  end. 

I  have  left  you  properly  provided  for:  I  leave  you  and  Jim 
all  the  love  that  is  in  my  heart. 

This  is  not  the  end,  Steve,  dear.  There  is  no  end — just  a 
little  rest  between  the  acts  for  such  old  actors  in  life's  drama 
as  your  dad.  Later,  you  and  Jim  will  join  us  behind  the 
scenes — my  wife  and  I — and  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see! 
— my  little  girl! — my  darling. 

DAD. 

The  boy  and  the  girl  sat  up  late  in  the  library  that 
night  discussing  the  two  letters  which  so  profoundly 
concerned  them. 

Indeed,  the  old  order  of  things  was  about  to  pass 
away  before  their  dismayed  and  saddened  eyes — eyes 
not  yet  accustomed  to  the  burning  grief  which  dimmed 
them — hearts  not  yet  strengthened  for  the  first  heavy 
responsibilities  which  they  had  ever  borne. 

133 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"I  can't  bear  to  leave  you,  Steve,"  said  the  boy, 
striving  to  steady  his  voice.  "What  are  you  going 
to  do  about  college?" 

"Well — I — I'll  go  back  to  college  and  finish  the  term. 
Dad  wanted  it." 

Neither  dreamed  of  disobeying  the  desires  expressed 
in  the  two  letters. 

"Will  you  finish  college?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  I  want  to  do  what  dad  wished  me  to 
do.  ...  I  wonder  what  a  course  in  hospital  training 
is  like?" 

"Down  there  at  Bayport  ?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  After  all,  that  is  accomplishing  some- 
thing. And  I  like  children,  Jim." 

"They're  defective  children  down  there." 

"Poor  little  lambs !  I — I  believe  I  could  do  some 
good — accomplish  something.  But  do  you  know,  Jim, 
it  almost  frightens  me  when  I  remember  that  you  will 

be  away  two  years She  began  to  weep,  lying 

there  in  her  big  chair  with  her  black-edged  handkerchief 
pressed  against  her  face. 

"I  wish  I  could  take  you  to  Europe,  Steve,"  he  said 
huskily. 

She  dried  her  eyes  leisurely. 

"Couldn't  you?  No,  you  couldn't,  of  course.  Dad 
would  have  said  so  if  it  was  what  he  wanted.  Well — 
then  I'll  finish  the  term  at  Vassar.  You  won't  go  be- 
fore Easter?" 

"No,  I'll  be  here,  Steve.  We'll  see  each  other  then, 
anyway.  .  .  .  Do  you  think  you'll  get  along  with 
your  aunt?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl.  "She  means  to  be 
kind,  I  suppose.  But  dad  spoiled  me.  Oh,  Jim!  I'm 
— I'm  too  unhappy  to  c-care  what  becomes  of  me  now. 

134 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


I'll  finish  the  term  and  then  I'll  go  and  learn  how  to 
nurse  sick  little  defective  children  while  you're 
away "  her  voice  broke  again. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  cry,"  said  the  boy ; — "I'm — I 
can't  stand  it " 

"Oh,  forgive  me !"  She  sprang  up  and  flung  herself 
on  the  rug  beside  his  chair. 

"I'm  sorry!  I'm  selfish.  I'll  do  everything  dad 
wished,  cheerfully.  You'll  go  abroad  and  educate  your- 
self by  travel,  and  I'll  learn  a  profession.  And  some 
day  I'll  find  out  what  I  really  am  fitted  to  do,  and 
then  I'll  go  abroad  and  study,  too." 

"You'll  be  twenty,  then,  Steve — just  the  age  to 
know  what  you  really  want  to  do." 

She  nodded,  listlessly,  kneeling  there  beside  his  chair, 
her  cheek  resting  on  her  clasped  hands,  her  grey  eyes 
fixed  on  the  dying  coals. 

After  a  long  silence  she  said: 

"Jim,  I  really  don't  know  what  I  want  to  do  in 
life.  I  am  not  certain  that  I  want  to  do  any- 
thing." 

"What?    Not  the  stage?" 

"No — I'm  not  honestly  sure.  Everything  interests 
me.  I  have  a  craving  to  see  everything  and  learn  about 
everything  in  the  world.  I  want  to  know  all  there  is 
to  know ;  I'm  feverishly  curious.  I  want  to  see  every- 
thing, experience  everything,  attempt  everything!  It's 
silly — it's  crazy,  of  course.  But  there's  a  restless  de- 
sire for  the  knowledge  of  experience  in  my  heart  that 
I  can't  explain.  I  love  everything — not  any  one  par- 
ticular thing  above  another — but  everything.  To  be 
great  in  any  one  thing  would  not  satisfy  me — it's  a 
terrible  thing  to  say,  isn't  it,  Jim! — but  if  I  were  a 
great  actress  I  should  try  to  become  a  great  singer, 

135 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


too ;  and  then  a  great  painter  and  sculptor  and  archi- 
tect  " 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Steve!" 

"I  tell  you  I  want  to  know  it  all,  be  it  all — see,  do, 
live  everything  that  is  to  be  seen,  done,  and  lived  in 
the  world !" 

She  lifted  her  head  and  straightened  her  shoulders, 
sweeping  the  tumbled  hair  from  her  brow  impatiently: 
and  her  brilliant  grey  eyes  met  his,  unsmiling. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "this  is  rot  I'm  talking.  But 
every  hour  of  my  life  I'm  going  to  try  to  learn  some- 
thing new  about  the  wonderful  world  I  live  in — try 
something  new  and  wonderful — live  every  minute  to  the 
full — experience  everything.  .  .  .  Do  you  think  I'm 
a  fool,  Jim?" 

He  smiled: 

"No,  but  you  make  me  feel  rather  unambitious 
and  commonplace,  Steve.  After  all,  I  merely  wish 
to  write  a  few  good  novels.  That  would  content 
me." 

"Oh,  Jim,"  she  said,  "you'll  do  it,  and  I'll  probably 
amount  to  nothing.  I'll  just  be  a  crazy  creature  flying 
about  and  poking  my  nose  into  everything,  and  stirring 
it  up  a  little  and  then  fluttering  on  to  the  next  thing. 
Like  the  Eanclar-log — that's  what  I  am — just  a  monkey, 
enchanted  and  excited  by  everything  inside  my  cage 
and  determined  to  find  out  what  is  hidden  under  every 
straw." 

"Yours  is  a  good  mind,  Steve,"  he  said,  still  smiling. 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  wistfully: 

"Is  it?  I  wish  I  knew.  I'm  going  to  try  to  find 
out.  Have  I  really  a  good  mind?  Or  is  it  just  a  rest- 
less one?  Anyway,  there's  no  use  my  trying  to  be  an 
ordinary  girl.  I'm  either  monkey  or  genius ;  and  I 

136 


am  convinced  that  the  world  was  made  for  me  to  rum- 
mage in." 

He  laughed. 

"Anyway,"  she  said,  "I've  amused  you  and  cheered 
you  up.  Good  night,  Jim  dear." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

STEPHANIE,  looking  very  slim  and  young  in  her 
deep  mourning,  went  back  to  college  unrecon- 
ciled and  in  tears.  Jim  drove  her  to  the  station. 

They  stood  together  in  the  Pullman  vestibule  for 
a  few  minutes  before  the  train  departed,  and  she  clung 
to  him,  both  black-gloved  hands  holding  tightly  to  his 
shoulders. 

"Everything  familiar  in  life  seems  to  be  ending,"  she 
said  tremulously.  "I'm  not  very  old  yet,  and  I  didn't 
really  wish  to  begin  living  seriously  so  soon — no  matter 
what  nonsense  I  talked  about  self-expression.  All  I 
want  now  is  to  get  off  this  train  and  go  back  home  with 
you." 

"Poor  little  Steve,"  he  said  under  his  breath.  "But 
it's  better  for  you  to  return  to  college.  The  house 
would  be  too  sad  for  you.  Go  back  to  college  and  study 
hard  and  play  basket  ball  and  skate " 

"Oh,  I  will,"  she  said  desolately.  "I'll  see  the 
wretched  term  through.  I  was  merely  telling  you  what 
I'd  rather  do — go  home  and  just  live  there  all  alone 
with  you." 

"You'd  become  tired  of  it  pretty  soon,  Steve.  Don't 
you  think  so?" 

They  looked  at  each  other  intently  for  a  moment, 
then  an  odd  expression  came  into  the  girl's  grey 
pyes : 

"It's  you  who  would  tire  of  it,  Jim,"  she  said.     "I'm 

138 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


not  old  enough  to  amuse  you  yet.  I'm  still  only  a  child 
to  you." 

'•What  nonsense !" 

"No.  You've  been  wonderful  to  me.  But  you  are 
older.  I've  bored  you  sometimes." 

He  protested;  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"A  girl  knows,"  she  said.  "And  a  man  can't  make 
a  comrade  of  a  girl  who  has  no  experiences  to  swap  with 
him,  no  conclusions  to  draw,  none  of  life's  discoveries 
to  compare  with  his.  .  .  .  Don't  look  so  guilty  and 
distressed ;  you  have  always  been  a  perfect  dear.  But, 
oh,  if  you  knew  how  hard  I've  tried  to  catch  up  with 
you ! — how  desperately  I  try  to  be  old  enough  for 
you " 

"Steve,  you  are  an  ideal  sister !  But  you  know 
how  it  is — when  a  man  has  such  a  lot  to  think 
about " 

"I  do  know!  And  that  is  exactly  what  I  also  am 
determined  to  have — a  lot  to  think  about !"  Her  colour 
was  high  and  her  grey  eyes  brilliant. 

"In  two  years  you  shall  see.  I  shall  be  an  interesting 
woman  to  you  when  you  come  back !  I  vow  and  declare 
I  shall  be  interesting  enough  to  be  friends  with  you  on 
equal  terms  !  Wait  and  see !" 

"But,  Steve,"  he  protested,  smiling,  yet  bewildered 
by  the  sudden  fiery  animation  of  the  girl,  "I  never  sup- 
posed you  felt  that  I  condescended — patronized ' 

"How  could  you  help  it! — a  little  fool  who  doesn't 
know  anything!"  She  was  laughing  unnaturally,  and 
her  nervous  fingers  tightened  and  relaxed  on  his  shoul- 
ders. "But  when  you  come  back  after  two  years'  travel, 
I  shall  at  least  be  able  to  take  your  temperature,  and 

keep  you  entertained  if  you're  ill !  Oh,  Jim,  I 

don't  know  what  I'm  saying!  I'm  just  heart-broken 

139 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


at  going  away  from  you.  You  do  care  a  lot  for  me, 
don't  you?" 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"And  I  promise  to  be  a  very  interesting  woman  when 
you  come  back  from  abroad.  .  .  .  Oh,  dear,  the  train 
is  moving.  Good-bye,  Jim  dear !"  She  flung  her  veil 
aside  and  put  both  slim  arms  around  his  neck  in  a  pas- 
sion of  adoration  and  farewell. 

He  dropped  to  the  platform  from  the  slowly  moving 
train  and  walked  back  toward  the  station.  And  he  was 
uneasily  conscious,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  of  the 
innocent  abandon  of  this  young  girl's  embrace — em- 
barrassed by  the  softness  of  her  mouth — impatient  of 
himself  for  noticing  it. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  house  Miss  Quest's  luggage 
had  gone  and  that  capable  and  determined  lady  was 
ready  to  depart  for  Bayport  in  a  large,  powerful  auto- 
mobile bearing  her  monogram,  which  stood  in  front 
of  the  house. 

"Mr.  Cleland,"  sire  said,  "before  I  go,  I  have  several 
things  to  say  to  you.  One  is  that  I  like  you." 

He  reddened  with  surprise,  but  expressed  his  appre- 
ciation pleasantly  and  without  embarrassment. 

"Yes,"  continued  Miss  Quest,  reflectively,  "you're 
much  like  your  father.  He  and  I  began  our  acquaint- 
ance by  differing ;  we  ended  friends.  I  hope  his  son  and 
I  may  continue  that  friendship." 

"I  hope  so,"  he  said  politely. 

"Thank  you.  But  the  keynote  to 'friendship  is  frank- 
ness. Shall  I  sound  it?" 

"Certainly,"  he  replied,  smiling. 

"Very  well:  my  niece  ought  to  have  a  woman  com- 
panion when  she  returns  from  college  at  Easter." 

"Why?"  he  asked,  astonished. 

140 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Because  she  isn't  your  sister,  and  she's  an  attractive 
girl." 

After  a  silence  she  went  on: 

"I  know  that  you  and  Stephanie  regard  each  other 
as  brother  and  sister.  But  you're  not.  And  the  world 
knows  it.  It's  an  absurd  world,  Mr.  Cleland." 

"It's  rather  a  rotten  world  if  Steve  and  I  can't  live 
here  alone  together  without  gossip,"  he  said  hotly. 

"Let's  take  it  as  we  find  it  and  be  practical.  Shall 
I  look  up  a  companion  for  Stephanie,  or  shall  I  return 
here  at  Easter?" 

He  pondered  the  suggestion,  frowning.  Miss  Quest 
said  pleasantly: 

"Please,  I  ddn't  mean  to  interfere.  You  are  of  age, 
and  over.  But  the  world,  if  it  cares  to  think,  will  re- 
member that  you  and  Stephanie  are  not  related.  In 
two  years,  when  you  return  from  Europe,  Stephanie 
will  be  twenty  and  you  twenty-four.  And,  laying  aside 
the  suggestion  that  an  older  woman's  presence  might 
be  advantageous  under  the  circumstances,  who  is  going 
to  control  Stephanie?" 

"Control  her?" 

"Yes,  control,  guide,  steady  her  through  the  most 
critical  period  of  her  life?" 

The  young  fellow,  plainly  unconvinced,  looked  at 
Miss  Quest  out  of  troubled  eyes. 

"Come,"  she  said  briskly,  "let's  have  a  heart-to-heart 
tilk  and  find  out  what's  ahead  of  us.  Let's  be  business- 
like and  candid.  Shall  we?" 

"By  all  means." 

"'Then  we'll  begin  at  the  very  beginning: 

"Stephanie  is  a  dear.  But  she's  very  young.  And 
aft  twenty  she  will  still  be  very,  very  young.  What 
txnits  and  talents  she  may  have  inherited  from  a  clever, 

141 


unprincipled  father — my  own  nephew,  Mr.  Cleland — I 
don't  know.  God  willing,  there's  nothing  of  him  in 
her — no  tendencies  toward  irregularities ;  no  unmoral 
inclination  to  drift,  nothing  spineless  and  irresponsible. 

"As  for  Stephanie's  mother,  I  know  little  about  her. 
I  think  she  was  merely  a  healthy  young  animal  without 
education,  submitting  to  and  following  instinctively  the 
first  man  who  attracted  her.  Which  happened  to  be 
my  unhappy  nephew." 

She  shook  her  head  and  gazed  musingly  at  the  win- 
dow where  the  sunshine  fell. 

"There  are  the  propositions;  this  is  the  problem, 
Mr.  Cleland.  Now,  let  us  look  at  the  conditions  which 
bear  directly  on  it.  Am  I  boring  you?" 

"No,"  he  said.  "It's  very  necessary  to  consider  this 
matter.  I'm  just  beginning  to  realize  that  I'm  really 
not  fitted  to  guide  and  control  Stephanie." 

She  laughed. 

"What  a  confession !  But  do  you  know  that,  all  over 
the  world,  men  are  beginning  to  come  to  similar  con- 
clusions ?  Conditions  absolutely  without  precedent  have 
arisen  within  a  few  brief  years.  And  Stephanie,  just 
emerging  into  womanhood,  is.  about  to  face  them.  The 
day  of  the  woman  has  dawned. 

"Ours  is  a  restless  sex,"  continued  Miss  Quest  grimly. 
"And  this  is  the  age  of  our  opportunity.  I  don't  know 
just  what  it  is  that  animates  my  enfranchised  sex,  now 
that  the  world  has  suddenly  flung  open  doors  which 
have  confined  us  through  immemorial  ages — each  woman 
to  her  own  narrow  cell,  privileged  only  to  watch  free- 
dom through  iron  bars. 

"But  there  runs  a  vast  restlessness  throughout  the 
world;  in  every  woman's  heart  the  seeds  of  revolution, 
so  long  dormant,  are  germinating.  The  time  has  come 

142 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


when  she  is  to  have  her  fling.     And  she  knows  it!" 

She  shrugged  her  trim  shoulders : 

"It  is  the  history  of  all  enfranchisement  that  license 
and  excess  are  often  misconstrued  as  freedom  by  lib- 
erated prisoners.  To  find  ourselves  free  to  follow  the 
urge  of  aspiration  may  unbalance  some  of  us.  Small 
wonder,  too." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  began  to  march  up  and 
down  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  swinging  her  reticule 
trimmed  with  Krupp  steel.  Cleland  rose,  too. 

"What  was  all  wrong  in  our  Victorian  mothers'  days 
is  all  right  now,"  she  said,  smilingly.  "We're  going  to 
get  the  vote ;  that's  a  detail  already  discounted.  And 
we've  already  got  about  everything  else  except  the 
right  to  say  how  many  children  we  shall  bring  into  the 
world.  That  will  surely  come,  too ;  that,  and  the  single 
standard  of  morality  for  both  sexes.  Both  are  bound 
to  come.  And  then,"  she  smiled  again  brightly  at  Cle- 
land, "I  have  an  idea  that  we  shall  quiet  down  and  out- 
grow our  restlessness.  But  I  don't  know." 

"What  you  say  is  very  interesting,"  murmured  the 
young  fellow. 

"Yes,  it's  interesting.  It  is  significant,  too.  So  is 
the  problem  of  making  something  out  of  defectives. 
After  a  while  there  won't  be  any  defectives  when  we 
begin  to  breed  children  as  carefully  as  we  breed  cattle. 
Sex  equality  will  hasten  sensible  discussion;  discussion 
will  result  in  laws.  A,  B  and  C  may  have  babies ;  D,  E 
and  F  may  not.  And,  after  a  few  generations,  the  en- 
tire feminine  alphabet  can  have  and  may  have  babies. 
And  if,  here  and  there,  a  baby  is  not  wanted,  there'll  be 
no  sniveling  sectarian  conference  to  threaten  the  wrath 
of  Mumbo-Jumbo !" 

Miss  Quest  halted  in  her  hearth-rug  promenade : 

143 


"The  doom  of  hypocrisy,  sham  and  intolerance  is 
already  in  sight.  Hands  off  and  mind  your  business  are 
written  on  the  wall.  So  I  suppose  Stephanie  will  think 
we  ought  to  keep  our  hands  off  her  and  mind  our  busi- 
ness if  she  wishes  to  go  on  the  stage  or  dawdle  before 
an  easel  in  a  Washington  Mews  studio  some  day." 

Her  logic  made  Cleland  anxious  again. 

"The  trouble  lies  in  this  intoxicating  perfume  we  call 
liberty.  We  women  sniff  it  afar,  and  it  makes  us  rest- 
less and  excitable.  It's  a  heady  odour.  Only  a  level 
mind  can  enjoy  it  with  discretion.  Otherwise,  it  incites 
to  excess.  That's  all.  We're  simply  not  yet  used  to 
liberty.  And  that  is  what  concerns  me  about  Stephanie 
— with  her  youth,  and  her  intelligence,  her  undoubted 
gifts  and — her  possible  inheritance  from  a  fascinating 
rascal  of  a  father. 

"Well,  that  is  the  girl;  there  are  the  conditions; 
this  is  the  problem.  .  .  .  And  now  I  must  be  going." 

She  held  out  her  smartly  gloved  hand;  retained  his 
for  a  moment: 

"You  won't  sail  before  Stephanie's  Easter  vaca- 
tion?" 

"No ;  I'll  probably  sail  about  May  first." 

"In  that  case,  I'll  come  on  from  Bayport,  and  you 
won't  need  to  find  a  companion  for  Stephanie.  After 
you  sail,  she'll  come  to  me,  anyway." 

"For  hospital  training,"  he  nodded. 

"For  two  years  of  it.     It's  her  choice." 

"Yes,  I  know.     She  prefers  it  to  college." 

Miss  Quest  said  very  seriously : 

"For  a  girl  like  Stephanie,  it  will  be  an  excellent 
thing.  It  will  give  her  a  certain  steadiness,  a  founda- 
tion in  life,  to  have  a  profession  on  which  she  may  rely 
in  case  of  adversity.  To  care  for  and  to  be  responsible 

144 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


for  others  develops  character.  She  already  seems  in- 
terested." 

"She  prefers   it  to  graduating  from  Vassar." 

Miss  Quest  nodded,  then  looking  him  directly  in  the 
eyes: 

"I  want  to  say  one  thing.     May  I?" 

"Certainly."  " 

"Then,  above  all,  be  patient  with  Stephanie.  Will 
you?" 

"Of  course !"  he  replied,  surprised. 

"I  am  looking  rather  far  into  the  future,"  continued 
Miss  Quest.  "You  will  change  vastly  in  two  years. 
She  will,  too.  Cherish  the  nice  friendship  between  you. 
A  man's  besetting  sin  is  impatience  of  women.  Try  to 
avoid  it.  Be  patient,  even  when  you  differ  with  her. 
She's  going  to  be  a  handful — I  may  as  well  be  frank. 
I  can  see  that — see  it  plainly.  She's  going  to  be  a 
handful  for  me — and  you  must  always  try  to  keep  her 
affections. 

"It's  the  only  way  to  influence  any  woman.  I  know 
my  sex.  You're  a  typical  man,  entirely  dependent  on 
logic  and  reason — or  think  you  are.  All  men  think  they 
are.  But  logic  and  reason  are  of  no  use  in  dealing  with 
us  unless  you  have  our  affections,  too.  Good-bye.  I 
do  like  you.  I'll  come  again  at  Easter." 

Alone  in  the  quiet  house,  with  his  memories  for  com- 
panions, the  young  fellow  tried  to  face  the  future; — 
tried  to  learn  to  endure  the  staggering  blow  which  his 
father's  death  had  dealt  him, — strove  resolutely  to 
shake  off  the  stunned  indifference,  the  apathy  through 
which  he  seemed  to  see  the  world  as  through  a  fog. 

Gradually,  as  the  black  winter  months  passed,  and 
as  he  took  up  his  work  again  and  pegged  away  at  it, 
the  inevitable  necessity  for  distraction  developed,  until 

145 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


at  last  the  deadly  stillness  of  the  house  became  unen- 
durable, driving  him  out  once  more  into  the  world  of 
living  men. 

So  the  winter  days  dragged,  and  the  young  fellow 
faced  them  alone  in  the  sad,  familiar  places  where,  but 
yesterday,  he  had  moved  and  talked  with  his  only  and 
best  beloved. 

Perhaps  it  was  easier  that  way.  He  had  his  memories 
to  himself,  sharing  none.  But  he  did  not  share  his 
sorrow,  either.  And  that  is  a  thing  that  under- 
mines. 

At  first  he  was  afraid  that  it  would  be  even  harder 
for  him  when  Stephanie  returned  at  Easter.  The  girl 
arrived  in  her  heavy  mourning,  and  he  met  her  at  the 
station,  as  his  father  used  to  meet  him. 

She  lifted  her  rather  pale  face  and  passively  re- 
ceived her  kiss,  but  held  tightly  to  his  arm  as  they 
turned  away  together  through  the  hurrying  crowds  of 
strangers. 

Each  one  tried  very  hard  to  find  something  cheerful 
to  talk  about;  but  little  by  little  their  narratives  con- 
cerning the  intervening  days  of  absence  became  spirit- 
less and  perfunctory. 

The  car  swung  into  the  familiar  street  and  drew  up 
before  the  house ;  Stephanie  laid  one  hand  on  Jim's  arm, 
stepped  out  to  the  sidewalk,  and  ran  up  the  steps,  ani- 
mated for  a  moment  with  the  natural  eagerness  for 
home.  But  when  old  Meacham  silently  opened  the  door 
and  her  gaze  met  his  : 

"Oh — Meacham,"  she  faltered,  and  her  grey  eyes 
filled. 

However,  she  felt  her  obligations  toward  Jim;  and 
they  both  made  the  effort,  at  dinner,  and  afterward  in 
the  library,  fighting  to  keep  up  appearances. 

146 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


But  silence,  lurking  near,  crept  in  upon  them,  a  living 
intruder  whose  steady  pressure  gradually  prevailed, 
leaving  them  pondering  there  under  the  subdued  lamp- 
light, motionless  in  the  depths  of  their  respective  arm- 
chairs, until  endurance  seemed  no  longer  possible — and 
speech  no  longer  a  refuge  from  the  ghosts  of  what-had- 
been.  And  the  girl,  in  her  black  gown,  rose,  came  si- 
lently over  to  his  chair,  seated  herself  on  the  arm,  and 
laid  her  pale  face  against  his.  He  put  one  arm  around 
her,  meaning  to  let  her  weep  there;  but  withdrew  it 
suddenly,  and  released  himself  almost  roughly  with  a 
confused  sense  of  her  delicate  fragrance  clinging  to 
him  too  closely. 

The  movement  was  nervous  and  involuntary ;  he  shot 
a  perplexed  glance  at  her,  still  uneasily  conscious  of  the 
warmth  and  subtle  sweetness  which  had  so  suddenly 
made  of  this  slender  girl  in  black  something  unfamiliar 
to  his  sight  and  touch. 

"Let's  try  to  be  cheerful,"  he  muttered,  scarcely 
understanding  what  he  said. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  repulsed  her  or  f  ailed 
to  respond  to  her  in  their  mutual  loneliness.  And  why 
he  did  it  he  himself  did  not  understand. 

He  left  the  arm-chair  and  went  and  stood  by  the 
mantel,  resting  one  elbow  on  it  and  looking  down  into 
the  coals ;  she  slipped  into  the  depths  of  the  chair  and 
lay  there  looking  at  him. 

For  something  in  the  manner  of  this  man  toward 
her  had  set  her  thinking;  and  she  lay  there  in  silence, 
watching  his  averted  face,  deeply  intent  on  her  own 
thoughts,  coming  to  no  conclusions. 

Yet  somehow  the  girl  was  aware  that,  in  that  brief 
moment  of  their  grief  when  she  had  sought  comfort  in 
his  brotherly  caress  and  he  had  offered  it,  then  sud- 

147 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


deniy  repulsed  her,  a  profound  line  of  cleavage  had 
opened  between  him  and  her;  and  that  the  cleft  could 
never  be  closed. 

Neither  seemed  to  be  aware  that  anything  had  hap- 
pened. The  girl  remained  silent  and  thoughtful;  and 
he  became  talkative  after  a  while,  telling  her  of  his 
plans  for  travel,  and  that  he  had  arranged  for  keeping 
open  the  house  in  case  she  and  Miss  Quest  wished  to 
spend  any  time  in  town. 

"I'll  write  you  from  time  to  time  and  keep  you  in- 
formed of  my  movements,"  he  said.  "Two  years  pass 
quickly.  By  the  time  I'm  back  I'll  have  a  profession 
and  so  will  }^ou." 

She  nodded. 

"Then,"  he  went  on,  "I  suppose  Miss  Quest  had  bet- 
ter come  here  and  live  with  us." 

"I'm  not  coming  back  here." 

"What?" 

"I'm  going  about  by  myself — as  you  are  going — to 
to  observe  and  learn." 

"You  wish  to  be  foot-free?" 

"I  do.    I  shall  be  my  own  mistress." 

"Of  course,"  he  said  drily,  "nobody  can  stop  you." 

"Why  should  anybody  wish  to?  I  shall  be  twenty- 
one — nearly;  I  shall  have  a  profession  if  I  choose  to 
practise  it ;  I  shall  have  my  income — and  all  the  world 
before  me  to  investigate." 

"And  then  what?" 

"How  do  I  know,  Jim?  A  girl  ought  to  have  her 
chance.  She  ought  to  have  her  fling,  too,  if  she  wants 
it — just  as  much  as  any  man.  It's  the  only  way  she 
can  learn  anything.  And  I've  concluded,"  she  added, 
looking  curiously  at  him,  "that  it's  the  only  way  she 
can  ever  become  really  interesting  to  a  man." 

148 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"How?"  he  demanded.  "By  having  what  you  call 
her  fling?" 

"Yes.  Men  aren't  much  interested  in  girls  who  know 
nothing  except  what  men  permit  them  to  know.  A  girl 
at  college  said  that  the  one  certain  source  of  interest 
to  any  man  in  any  woman  is  his  unsatisfied  curiosity 
concerning  her.  Satisfy  it,  and  he  loses  interest." 

Cleland  laughed: 

"That's  college  philosophy,"  he  said. 

Stephanie  smiled: 

"It  is  what  a  man  doesn't  know  about  a  woman  that 
keeps  his  interest  in  her  stimulated.  It  isn't  her  mind 
which  is  merely  stored  with  the  conventional — the  con- 
ventional being  determined  and  prescribed  by  men.  It 
isn't  even  her  character  or  her  traits  or  her  looks  which 
can  keep  his  interest  unflagging.  What  deeply  inter- 
ests a  man  is  an  educated,  cultivated  girl  who  has  had 
as  much  experience  as  he  has,  and  who  is  likely  to  have 
further  experience  in  the  world  without  advice  from 
him  or  asking  his  permission.  No  other  woman  can 
hold  the  interest  of  a  man  for  very  long." 

"That's  what  you've  learned  at  Vassar,  is  it?" 

"It's  one  of  the  things,"  said  Stephanie,  smiling 
faintly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  boy — for  as  yet  he  was  only  a  boy — sailed  in 
May.  The  girl — who  was  swiftly  stripping  from 
her  the  last  rainbow  chiffons  of  girlhood — was 
at  the  steamer  to  see  him  off — down  from  Poughkeepsie 
for  that  purpose. 

And  the  instant  she  arrived  he  noticed  what  this  last 
brief  absence  had  done  for  her ;  how  subtly  her  matur- 
ing self-confidence  had  altered  the  situation,  placing 
her  on  a  new  footing  with  himself. 

There  was  a  little  ot  the  lean,  long-legged,  sweet-faced 
girl  left:  a  slender  yet  rounded  symmetry  had  replaced 
obvious  joints  and  bones. 

"What  is  it — basket  ball?"  he  inquired  admiringly. 

"You  like  my  figure?"  she  inquired  guilelessly.  "Oh, 
I've  grown  up  within  a  month.  It's  just  what  was 
coming  to  me." 

"Nice  line  of  slang  they  give  you  up  there,"  he  said, 
laughing.  "You're  nearly  as  tall  as  I  am,  too.  I  don't 
know  you,  little  sister." 

"You  never  did,  little  brother.  You'll  be  sorry  some 
day  that  you  wasted  all  the  school-girl  adoration  I 
lavished  on  you." 

"Don't  you  intend  to  lavish  any  more?"  he  inquired, 
laughing,  yet  very  keenly  alert  to  her  smiling  assur- 
ance, which  was  at  the  same  time  humourous,  provoca- 
tive and  engaging. 

"I  don't  know.    I'm  over  my  girlhood  illusions.    Men 

150 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


are  horrid  pigs,  mostly.  It's  a  very  horrid  thing  you're 
doing  to  me  right  now,"  she  said,  " — going  off  to  have 
a  wonderful  time  by  yourself  for  the  next  two  years  and 
leaving  me  to  work  in  a  children's  hospital!  But  I 
mean  to  make  you  pay  for  it.  Wait  and  see." 

"If  you'll  come  to  Europe  with  me  I'll  take  you," 
he  said. 

"You  wouldn't.  You'd  hate  it.  You  want  to  be  free 
to  prowl.  So  do  I,  and  I  mean  to  some  day." 

"Why  not  come  now  and  prowl  with  me?  I'll  take 
care  of  you." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  smiling  intentness : 

"If  dad  hadn't  expressed  his  wishes,  and  even  if  my 
aunt  would  let  me  go,  I  wouldn't — now." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  shall  do  no  more  tagging  after  you." 

"What?" 

"No.  And  when  you  return  I  mean  that  you  shall 
come  and  ask  my  permission  to  prowl  with  me.  .  .  . 
And  if  I  find  you  interesting  enough  I'll  let  you.  Other- 
wise, I  shall  prowl  by  myself  or  with  some  other  man." 

He  was  laughing,  and  her  face,  also,  wore  a  bright 
and  slightly  malicious  smile. 

"You  don't  believe  that's  possible,  do  you,  Jim? — a 
total  reversal  of  our  roles?  You  think  little  sister  will 
tag  gratefully  after  you  always,  don't  you?  Wouldn't 
it  astonish  you  if  little  sister  grew  up  into  a  desirable 
and  ornamental  woman  of  independent  proclivities  and 
tastes,  and  with  a  mind  and  a  will  of  her  own?  And, 
to  enjoy  her  company,  you'd  have  to  seek  her  and 
prove  yourself  sufficiently  interesting ;  and  that  you 
would  have  to  respect  her  freedom  and  individuality  as 
you  would  any  man's!" 

"I  think,  little  sister,"  he  said,  laughing,  "that  you've 

151 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


absorbed  a  vast  deal  of  modern  nonsense  at  Vassar; 
that  you're  as  pretty  as  a  peach;  and  that  you'll  not 
turn  into  a  maid  errant,  but  will  become  an  ornament 
to  your  sex  and  to  society,  and  that  you'll  marry  in 
due  time  and  do  yourself  proud." 

"In  children,  you  mean?    Numerically?" 

"Quantitatively  and  qualitatively.  Also,  you'll  do 
yourself  proud  in  the  matronly  example  you'll  set  to 
all  women  of  this  great  Republic." 

"That's  what  you  think,  is  it?" 

"I  know  it." 

She  smiled: 

"Watch  the  women  of  my  generation,  Jim — when  you 
can  spare  a  few  moments  of  your  valuable  time  from 
writing  masterpieces  of  fiction." 

"I  certainly  shall.  I'll  study  'em.  They're  material 
for  me.  They  are  funny,  you  know." 

"They  are,  indeed,"  she  said,  her  grey  eyes  full  of 
malice,  "funnier  than  you  dream  of!  You  are  going 
to  see  a  generation  that  will  endure  no  man-devised  re- 
strictions, submit  to  no  tyrannical  trammels,  endure  no 
masculine  nonsense.  You'll  see  this  new  species  of 
woman  coming  faster  and  faster,  thicker  and  thicker, 
each  one  knowing  her  own  mind  or  intent  on  knowing  it. 
You'll  see  them  animated  by  a  thousand  new  interests, 
pursuing  a  thousand  new  vocations,  scornful  of  mascu- 
line criticism,  impervious  to  admonition,  regardless  of 
what  men  think  and  say  and  do  about  it. 

"That's  what  you'll  sec,  Jim,  a  restless  sex  destroy- 
ing their  last  barriers ;  a  world  of  women  contemptuous 
of  men's  opinions,  convinced  of  their  own  rights,  going 
after  whatever  they  want,  and  doing  it  in  their  own 
way. 

"If  they  wish  to  marry  and  bother  with  children 

152 


they'll  pick  out  a  healthy  man  and  do  it;  if  not,  they 
won't.  Love  plays  a  very,  very  small  part  in  a  man's 
life.  Love,  sentiment,  domesticity,  and  the  nursery 
were  once  supposed  to  make  up  a  woman's  entire  exist- 
ence. Now  the  time  is  coming  very  swiftly  when  love 
will  play  no  more  of  a  role  in  a  woman's  life  than  it 
does  in  a  man's.  She'll  have  her  fling,  first,  if  she 
chooses,  just  as  freely  as  he  does.  And  some  day,  if 
she  finds  it  worth  the  inconvenience,  she'll  marry  and 
take  a  year  or  two  off  and  raise  a  few  babies.  Other- 
wise, decidedly  not!" 

"These  are  fine  sentiments !"  he  exclaimed,  laughing, 
yet  not  too  genuinely  amused.  "I'm  not  sure  that  I'd 
better  go  and  leave  you  here  with  that  exceedingly 
pretty  little  head  of  yours  stuffed  and  seething  with 
this  sort  of  propaganda !" 

"You  might  as  well.  The  whole  world  is  beginning  to 
seethe  with  it.  After  all,  what  does  it  mean  except 
equality  of  the  sexes?  Hands  off — that's  all  it  means." 

"Are  you  a  suffragette,  Steve?"  he  inquired,  smil- 
ingly. 

"Oh,  Jim,  that's  old  stuff !  Everybody  is.  All  that  is 
merely  a  matter  of  time,  now.  What  interests  us  is 
our  realization  of  our  own  individual  independence. 
Why,  I  can't  tell  you  what  a  delightful  knowledge  it  is 
to  understand  that  we  can  do  jolly  well  what  we  please 
and  not  care  a  snap  of  our  fingers  for  masculine  opin- 
ion!" 

"That's  a  fine  creed,"  he  remarked.  "What  a  charm- 
ing bunch  you  must  be  training  with  at  Vassar!  I 
think  I'll  get  off  this  steamer  and  remain  here  for  a  little 
scientific  observation  of  your  development  and  con- 
duct." 

"No  use,"  she  said  gaily.    "I've  promised  to  learn  to 

153 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


be  a  hospital  nurse.  After  that,  perhaps,  if  you  re- 
turn, you'll  find  me  really  worth  observing." 

"Is  that  a  threat,  Steve  ?"  he  asked,  not  too  sincerely 
amused,  yet  still  taking  her  and  her  chatter  with  a 
lightness  and  amiable  condescension  entirely  mascu- 
line. 

"A  threat?" 

"Yes.  Do  you  mean  that  when  I  return  I  shall  find 
my  little  sister  a  handful?" 

"A  handful?  For  whose  hand?  Jim,  dear,  you  are 
old-fashioned.  Girls  aren't  on  or  in  anybody's  hands 
any  more  after  they're  of  age.  Do  you  think  you'll 
be  responsible  for  me?  Dear  child,  we'll  be  comrades 
or  nothing  at  all  to  each  other.  You  really  must  grow 
up,  little  brother,  before  you  come  back,  or  I'm  afraid 
— much  as  I  love  you — I  might  find  you  just  a  little  bit 
prosy — 

The  call  for  all  ashore  silenced  her.  She  stood  con- 
fronting Cleland  with  high  colour  and  pretty,  excited 
grey  eyes,  for  a  moment  more,  then  the  gay  de- 
fiance faded  in  her  face  and  her  attitude  grew  less 
resolute. 

"Oh,  Jim!"  she  said  under  her  breath,  " — I  adore 
you :  And  melted  into  his  embrace. 

As  he  held  her  in  his  arms,  for  a  moment  the  instinct 
to  repel  her  and  disengage  himself  came  over  him 
swiftly.  A  troubled  idea  that  her  lips  were  very  soft 
— that  he  scarcely  knew  this  girl  whose  supple  figure 
he  held  embraced,  left  him  mute,  confused. 

"Dear  Jim,"  she  whimpered,  "I  love  you  dearly.  I 
shall  miss  you  dreadfully.  I'll  always  be  your  own  little 
sister  Steve,  and  you  can  come  back  and  bully  me  and 
I'll  tag  after  you  and  adore  you.  Oh,  Jirn — Jim — my 
own  brother — my  own — my  own /" 

154 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


It  was  a  bright,  sunny,  windy  May  day.  He  could 
still  distinguish  her  in  her  black  gown  on  the  crowded 
pier  which  was  all  a-flutter  with  brilliant  gowns  and 
white  handkerchiefs. 

After  the  distant  pier  had  become  only  a  square  of 
colour  like  a  flower-bed,  he  still  stood  on  the  hurricane 
deck  of  the  huge  liner  looking  back  at  where  he  had  last 
seen  her.  The  fragrance  of  her  still  clung  to  him — 
seemed  to  have  been  inhaled  somehow  and  to  have  subtly 
permeated  him — something  of  the  warm,  fresh,  pliant 
youth  of  her — unspoiled,  utterly  unawakened  to  any- 
thing more  delicate  or  complex  than  the  frank,  vigorous 
passion  of  her  affection. 

Yet,  as  her  breathless,  tearful  lips  had  clung  to  his, 
so  the  perfume  of  the  embrace  clung  to  him  still,  leav- 
ing him  perplexed,  vaguely  disturbed,*  yet  intensely 
conscious  of  new  emotion,  unfamiliar  in  his  experience 
with  this  girl  who  yesterday  had  been  what  she  always 
had  been  to  him — a  growing  child  to  be  affectionately 
looked  after  and  chivalrously  cherished  and  endured. 

"I  couldn't  be  in  love  with  Steve,"  he  said  to  himself 
incredulously.  The  thought  amazed  and  exasperated 
him.  "I'm  a  fine  sort  of  man,"  he  thought  bitterly,  "if 
I  can't  kiss  Steve  as  innocently  as  she  kisses  me. 
There's  something  wrong  with  me.  I  must  be  a  sort  of 
dog — or  crazy " 

He  went  below. 

Stephanie  went  back  in  the  car,  alone.  She 
staunched  her  tears  with  her  black-edged  handkerchief 
until  they  ceased  to  fill  the  wonderful  grey  eyes. 

Later,  detaching  the  limousine  hand-mirror,  she  in- 
spected her  countenance,  patted  her  chestnut-tinted 
hair,  smoothed  out  her  mourning  veil,  and  then,  in  order, 
lay  back  in  the  corner  of  the  car  and  gave  herself  up 

155 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


to  passionate  memory  of  this  boy  whom  she  had  adored 
from  the  first  moment  she  ever  laid  eyes  on  him. 

Two  years'  absence?  She  tried  to  figure  to  herself 
what  that  meant,  but  could  not  compass  it.  It  seemed 
like  a  century  of  penance  to  be  endured,  to  be  lived 
through  somehow. 

She  wanted  him  dreadfully  already.  She  had  no 
pride  left,  no  purpose,  no  threats.  She  just  wanted  to 
tag  after  him — knowing  perfectly  well  that  there  could 
be  no  real  equality  of  comradeship  where  youth  and  in^ 
experience  fettered  her.  She  didn't  care;  she  wanted 
him. 

No  deeper  sentiment,  nothing  less  healthy  and  frank 
than  her  youthful  adoration  for  him,  disturbed  her  sor- 
row. The  consanguinity  might  have  been  actual  as  far 
as  her  affections  had  ever  been  concerned  with  him. 

That  she  had,  at  various  intervals,  made  of  him  a 
romantic  figure,  altered  nothing.  Stainlessly  her  heart 
enshrined  him ;  he  was  her  ideal,  hers ;  her  brother,  her 
idol,  her  paladin — the  incarnation  of  all  that  was  de- 
sirable and  admirable  in  a  boy,  a  youth,  a  young  man. 

Never  in  all  her  life  had  any  youth  interested  her 
otherwise — save,  perhaps,  once — that  time  she  had  met 
Oswald  Grismer  after  many  years,  and  had  danced  with 
him — and  was  conscious  of  his  admiration.  That  was 
the  only  time  in  her  life  when  her  attitude  toward  any 
man  had  been  not  quite  clear — not  entirely  definable. 

She  wrote  many  pages  to  Cleland  that  night.  And 
cried  herself  to  sleep. 

The  next  day  her  aunt  came  up  from  Bayport.  And, 
a  week  later,  she  went  away  to  Bayport  with  Miss  Quest 
to  begin  what  seemed  to  her  an  endless  penance  of  two 
years'  hospital  training. 

The  uniform  was  pink  with  white  cuffs,  apron,  and 

156 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


cap.  She  never  forgot  the  first  blood  that  soiled  it — 
from  a  double  mastoid  operation  on  a  little  waif  of 
twelve  who  had  never  been  able  to  count  more  than  six. 
She  held  sponges,  horrified,  crushing  back  the  terror 
that  widened  her  grey  eyes,  steeling  herself  to  look, 
summoning  every  atom  of  strength  and  resolution  and 
nerve  to  see  her  through. 

They  found  her  lying  across  the  corridor  in  a  dead 
faint. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  usual  happened  to  James  Cleland;  for 
the  first  two  months  in  Paris  he  was  intensely 
lonely.  Life  in  an  English-speaking  pension 
near  the  Place  de  1'Etoile  turned  out  to  be  very  drab 
and  eventless  after  he  returned  to  his  rooms,  fatigued 
from  sight-seeing  and  exploration.  The  vast  silver- 
grey  city  seemed  to  him  cold,  monotonously  impressive 
and  oppressive ;  he  was  not  in  sympathy  with  it,  being 
totally  unaccustomed  to  the  splendour  of  a  municipal 
ensemble  with  all  its  beauty  of  reticence  and  good  taste. 

The  vast  vistas,  the  subdued  loveliness  of  detail,  the 
stately  tranquillity  of  this  capital,  he  did  not  under- 
stand after  the  sham,  the  ignorance,  the  noisy  vul- 
garity of  his  native  municipality. 

Here  were  new  standards ;  the  grey  immensity  of  the 
splendid  capital  gave  him,  at  first,  an  impression  of 
something  flat  and  almost  featureless  under  the  horizon- 
wide  sweep  of  sky.  There  were  no  sky-scrapers.  With 
exquisite  discretion,  Notre  Dame  dominated  the  east, 
the  silvery  majesty  of  the  Pantheon  the  south;  in  the 
west  the  golden  bubble  of  the  Invalides  burned ;  the  frail 
tracery  of  the  Eiffel  Tower  soared  from  the  city's  cen- 
tre. 

And  for  the  first  two  months  he  was  an  alien  here, 
depressed,  silenced,  not  comprehending,  oblivious  of  the 
subtle  atmosphere  of  civil  friendliness  possessing  the 
throngs  which  flowed  by  him  on  either  hand,  unaware 

158 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


that  he  stood  upon  the  kindly  hearthstone  of  the  world 
itself,  where  the  hospitable  warmth  never  grew  colder, 
where  the  generous  glow  was  for  all. 

He  went  to  lectures  at  the  Sorbonne;  he  attended  a 
class  in  philology  in  the  Rue  des  Ecoles ;  he  studied  in 
the  quiet  alcoves  of  the  great  Library  of  Ste.  Gene- 
vieve;  he  paced  the  sonorous  marble  pavements  of  the 
Louvre.  And  the  austere  statues  seemed  to  chill  him 
to  the  soul. 

All  was  alien  to  him,  all  foreign;  the  English-speak- 
ing landlady  of  his  pension,  with  her  eternal  cold  in 
the  head  and  her  little  shoulder  shawl ;  the  dreary 
American  families  from  the  Middle  West  who  gathered 
thrice  a  day  at  the  pension  table ;  passing  wayfarers 
he  saw  from  the  windows ;  red-legged  soldiers  in  badly 
fitting  uniforms,  priests  in  shovel  hats  and  black  sou- 
tanes, policemen  slouching  by  under  cowled  cloaks,  their 
bayonets  dangling;  hatless,  chattering  shop  girls,  and 
the  uninteresting  types  of  civilian  citizens ;  men  in  im- 
possible hats  and  oddly  awful  clothes ;  women  who  all 
looked  smart  from  the  rear  and  dubious  from  the  front. 

He  found  an  annoying  monotony  in  the  trees  of  the 
Bois,  a  tiresome  sameness  in  square  and  circle  and  park 
and  boulevard.  He  found  the  language  difficult  to 
understand,  more  difficult  to  speak.  Food,  accommoda- 
tions, the  domestic  regime,  were  not  to  his  liking. 
French  economies  bored  him. 

At  lectures  his  comrades  seemed  merely  superficially 
polite  and  not  very  desirable  as  acquaintances.  He 
felt  himself  out  of  place,  astray  from  familiar  things, 
out  of  touch  with  this  civilization,  out  of  sympathy  with 
place  and  people.  He  was  intensely  lonely. 

In  the  beginning  he  wrote  to  Stephanie  every  other 
day.  That  burst  of  activity  lasted  about  two  months. 

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THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Also,  in  his  rather  dingy  and  cheerless  suite  of  rooms, 
he  began  a  tragedy  in  five  acts  and  a  pessimistic  novel 
called  "Out  of  the  Depths."  Also,  he  was  guilty  of  a 
book  of  poems  called  "Day  Dreams." 

He  missed  his  father  terribly ;  he  missed  his  home ; 
he  missed  the  noisy,  grotesque,  half-civilized  and  mon- 
strous city  of  his  nativity.  And  he  missed  Stephanie 
violently. 

He  told  her  so  in  every  letter.  The  more  letters  he 
wrote  the  warmer  grew  this  abrupt  affection  for  her. 
And,  his  being  a  creative  talent,  with  all  its  tempera- 
mental impulses,  exaggerations  and  drawbacks,  he  be- 
gan to  evolve,  unconsciously,  out  of  Stephanie  Quest 
a  girl  based  on  the  real  girl  he  knew,  only  transcenden- 
tally  endowed  with  every  desirable  and  ornamental 
quality  abstractly  favoured  by  himself. 

He  began  to  create  an  ideal  Stephanie  to  comfort  him 
in  his  loneliness ;  he  created,  too,  a  mutual  situation  and 
a  sentimental  atmosphere  for  them  both,  neither  of 
which  had  existed  when  he  left  America. 

But  now,  in  his  letters,  more  and  more  this  romantic 
and  airy  fabric  took  shape.  Being  young,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  thrown  upon  his  own  resources— 
and,  moreover,  feeling  for  the  first  time  the  pleasures 
of  wielding  an  eloquent,  delicate  and  capricious  pen  to 
voice  indefinable  aspirations,  he  began  to  lose  himself 
in  romantic  subtleties,  evoking  drama  out  of  nothing, 
developing  it  by  implication  and  constructing  it  with 
pensive  and  capricious  humour  hinting  of  dreamy  mel- 
ancholy. 

Until  the  Stephanie  Quest  of  his  imagination  had  be- 
come to  him  the  fair,  and  exquisitely  indifferent  little 
renaissance  figure  of  his  fancy;  and  he,  somehow  or 
other,  her  victim.  And  the  more  exquisite  and  indiffer- 

160 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ent  he  created  her,  the  more  she  fascinated  him,  until 
he  completely  hypnotized  himself  with  his  own  cleverly 
finished  product. 

A  letter  from  her  woke  him  up  more  or  less,  jolting 
him  in  his  trance  so  that  the  jingle  and  dissonance 
of  the  real  world  filled,  for  a  moment,  his  enchanted 
ears. 

DEAR  JIM: 

Your  letters  perplex  me  more  and  more,  and  I  don't  know 
at  all  how  to  take  them.  Do  you  mean  you  are  in  love  with 
me?  I  can't  believe  it.  I  read  and  re-read  your  last  three 
letters — such  dear,  odd,  whimsical  letters! — so  wonderfully 
written,  so  full  of  beauty  and  of  poetry. 

They  do  almost  sound  like  love-letters — or  at  least  as  I 
imagine  love-letters  are  written.  But  they  can't  be!  How 
can  they  be? 

And  first  of  all,  even  if  you  meant  them  that  vay,  I  don't 
know  what  to  thnik.  I've  never  been  in  love.  I  know  how 
I  feel  about  you — have  always  felt.  You  know,  too. 

But  you  never  gave  me  any  reason  to  think — and  I  never 
dreamed  of  thinking  anything  like  that  when  you  were  here. 
It  never  occurred  to  me.  It  would  not  occur  to  me  now 
except  for  your  very  beautiful  -letters — so  unlike  you — so 
strangely  sad,  so  whimsical,  so  skillful  in  wonderful  phrases 
that  they're  like  those  vague  prose  poems  you  sent  me,  which 
hint  enough  to  awaken  your  imagination  and  set  you  aflame 
with  curiosity. 

But  you  can't  mean  that  you're  in  love  with  me.  I  should 
be  too  astonished.  Besides,  I  shouldn't  know  what  to  do 
about  it.  It  wouldn't  seem  real.  I  never  have  thought  of 
you  in  such  a  way. 

What  makes  a  girl  fall  in  love?  Do  you  know?  Could 
she  fall  in  love  with  a  man  through  his  letters  because  they 
are  so  beautiful  and  sad  and  elusive,  so  full  of  charm  and 
mystery?  I'm  in  love  with  them.  But,  Jim,  I  don't  know 
what  to  think  about  you.  I'd  have  to  see  you  again,  first, 
anyway.  You  are  such  a  dear  boy !  I  can't  seem  to  think  of 
you  that  way.  You  know  it's  a  different  kind  of  love,  ours. 

161 


THE  EESTLESS  SEX 


All  I  can  think  about  it  is  the  tremendous  surprise — if  it's 
true. 

But  I  don't  believe  it  is.  You  are  lonely;  you  miss  dad- 
miss  me,  perhaps.  I  think  you  do  miss  me,  for  the  first 
time  in  your  life.  You  see,  I  have  rather  a  clear  mind  and 
memory,  and  I  can't  help  remembering  that  when  you  were 
here  you  certainly  could  not  have  felt  that  way  toward  me; 
so  how  can  you  now?  I  did  bore  you  sometimes. 

Anyway,  I  adore  you  with  all  my  heart,  as  you  know. 
My  affection  hasn't  changed  one  bit  since  I  was  a  tiny  girl 
and  came  into  your  room  that  day  and  saw  you  down  on  the 
floor  unpacking  your  suit-case.  I  adored  you  instantly.  I 
have  not  changed.  Girls  don't  change. 

Another  letter  from  her  some  months  later : 

You're  such  a  funny  boy — just  a  boy,  still,  while  in  these 
six  months  I've  overtaken  and  passed  you  in  years.  You 
won't  believe  it,  but  I  have.  Maturity  has  overtaken  me. 
I  am  really  a  re^.l  woman. 

Why  are  your  letters  vaguely  reproachful?  Have  I  done 
anything?  Were  you  annoyed  when  I  asked  you  whether 
you  meant  me  to  take  them  as  love  letters?  You  didn't 
write  for  a  month  after  that.  Did  I  scare  you?  You  aye 
funny ! 

I  do  really  think  you  are  in  love — not  with  me,  Jim — not 
v/ith  any  other  particular  girl — but  just  in  love  with  love. 
Writers  and  artists  and  poets  are  inclined  to  that  sort  of 
thing,  I  fancy. 

That's  what  worries  me  about  myself;  I  am  not  inclined 
that  way;  I  don't  seem  to  be  artistic  enough  in  temperament 
to  pay  any  attention  to  sentiment  of  that  sort.  I  don't  de- 
sire it;  I  don't  miss  it;  it  simply  is  not  an  item  in  the  list  of 
things  that  interest  me.  But  of  all  things  in  the  world,  I  do 
adore  friendship. 

I  had  an  afternoon  off  from  the  hospital  the  other  day — 
I'm  still  a  probationer  in  a  pink  and  white  uniform,  you 
know — and  I  went  up  to  town  and  flew  about  the  shops  and 
lunched  with  a  college  friend,  Helen  Davis,  at  the  Ritz  and 
had  a  wonderful  time. 

162 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


And  who  do  you  suppose  I  ran  into?  Oswald  Grismer! 
Jim,  he  certainly  is  the  best-looking  fellow — such  red-gold 
hair, — such  fascinating  golden  eyes  and  colouring. 

We  chatted  most  amiably  and  he  took  us  to  tea,  and  then 
— I  suppose  it  wasn't  conventional — but  we  went  to  his 
studio  with  him,  Helen  Davis  and  I. 

He  is  the  cleverest  man!  He  has  done  a  delightful  foun- 
tain and  several  portrait  busts,  and  a  beautiful  tomb  for  the 
Lidsey  family,  and  his  studies  in  wax  and  clay  are  won- 
derful! 

He  really  seems  very  nice.  And  the  life  he  leads  is  heav- 
enly! Such  a  wonderful  way  to  live — just  a  bed-room  and 
the  studio. 

He's  going  to  give  a  little  tea  for  me  next  time  I  have  an 
afternoon  off,  and  I'm  to  meet  a  lot  of  delightful,  unconven- 
tional people  there — painters,  writers,  actors — people  who 
have  done  things! — I'm  sure  it  will  be  wonderful. 

I  have  bought  five  pounds  of  plasticine  and  I'm  going  to 
model  in  it  in  my  room  every  time  I  have  a  few  moments 
to  myself.  But  oh,  it  does  smell  abominably,  and  it  ruins 
your  finger  nails. 

After  that,  Oswald  Grismer's  name  recurred  fre- 
quently in  her  letters.  Cleland  recognized  also  the 
names  of  several  old  schoolmates  of  his  as  figuring  at 
various  unconventional  ceremonies  in  Grismer's  studio 
— Harry  Belter,  now  a  caricaturist  on  the  New  York 
Morning  Star;  Badger  Spink,  drawing  for  the  illus- 
trated papers  ;  Clarence  Verne,  who  painted  pretty  girls 
for  the  covers  of  popular  magazines,  and  his  one-time 
master,  Phil  Grayson,  writer  for  the  better-class  pe- 
riodicals. 

It's  delightful,  she  wrote;  we  sometimes  have  music — 
often  celebrated  people  from  the  Metropolitan  Opera  drop 
in — and  you  meet  everybody  of  consequence  you  ever  heard 
of  outside  the  Social  Register — people  famous  in  their  pro- 
fessions— and  it  is  exciting  and  inspiring  and  fills  me  with 
enthusiasm  and  desire  to  amount  to  something. 

163 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Of  course  there  are  all  kinds,  Jim;  but  I'm  old  enough 
and  experienced  enough  to  know  how  to  take  care  of  my- 
self. Intellectuals  are,  of  course,  broad,  liberal  and  impa- 
tient of  petty  conventions:  they  live  for  their  professions, 
regardless  of  orthodox  opinion,  oblivious  of  narrow-minded 
Philistines. 

The  main  idea  is  to  be  tolerant.  That  is  the  greatest  thing 
in  the  world,  tolerance.  I  may  not  care  to  smoke  cigarettes 
myself  or  drink  cocktails  and  highballs,  but  if  another  girl 
does  it  it's  none  of  my  business.  That  is  the  foundation  of 
the  unconventional  and  intellectual  world — freedom  and  tol- 
erance of  other  people's  opinions  and  behaviour.  That  is 
democracy! 

As  for  the  futurists  and  symbolists  of  various  schools,  I 
am  not  narrow  enough,  I  hope,  to  ridicule  them  or  deny 
them  the  right  to  self-expression,  but  I  am  not  in  sympathy 
with  them.  However,  it  is  most  interesting  to  listen  to  their 
views. 

Well,  these  delightful  treats  are  rare  events  in  my  hor- 
ridly busy  life.  I'm  in  the  infirmary  and  the  hospital  al- 
most all  the  time;  I'm  always  on  duty  or  studying  or  at- 
tending lectures  and  clinics.  I  don't  faint  any  more.  And 
the  poor  little  sufferers  fill  my  heart  with  sympathy.  I  do 
love  children — even  defective  ones.  It  makes  me  furious 
that  there  should  be  any.  We  must  regulate  this  some  day. 
And  regulate  birth  control,  too. 

It  is  interesting;  I  am  rather  glad  that  I  shall  have  had 
this  experience.  As  a  graduate  nurse,  some  day,  I  shall  add 
immensely  to  my  own  self-respect  and  self-confidence.  But 
I  should  never  pursue  the  profession  further;  never  study 
medicine;  never  desire  to  become  a  professional  physician. 
The  minute  I  graduate  I  shall  rent  a  studio  and  start  in  to 
find  out  what  most  properly  shall  be  my  vehicle  for  self-ex- 
pression. 

I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Oswald  Grismer's  father  and 
mother  are  dead  within  a  week  of  each  other.  Pneumonia! 
Poor  boy,  he  is  stunned.  He  wrote  me.  He  won't  give  any 
more  teas  for  the  present,  but  I'm  to  drop  in  the  next  time 
I'm  in  town.  I  believe  he  has  inherited  a  great  deal  of 
money.  I'm  glad,  because  now  he  will  be  able  to  devote 

164 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


every  second  to  creative  work  without  a  thought  of  financial 
gain. 

Harry  Belter  is  such  a  funny,  fat  man.  He  asks  after 
you  every  time  I  meet  him.  I  sent  you  some  of  his  cartoons 
in  the  Star.  Badger  Spink  is  an  odd  sort  of  man  with  his 
big,  boyish  figure  and  his  mass  of  pompadour  hair  and  his 
inextinguishable  energy  and  amazing  talent.  He  draws, 
draws,  draws  all  the  time;  you  see  his  pictures  in  every 
periodical;  yet  he  seems  to  have  time  for  all  sorts  of  gaiety, 
private  theatricals,  dances,  entertainments.  He  belongs  to  the 
Players,  the  Ten  Cent  Club,  the  Dutch  Treat,  Illustrators, 
Lotus,  Coffee  House,  Two  by  Four — and  about  a  hundred 
others — and  I  think  he's  president  of  most  of  them.  He 
always  sends  his  regards  to  you  and  requests  to  know  whether 
you're  not  yet  fed  up  with  Lathi  Quarter  stuff — whatever 
that  means! 

And  Clarence  Verne  always  mentions  you.  Such  a  cu- 
rious man  with  a  face  like  Pharaoh,  and  Egyptian  hands,  too, 
deeply  cut  in  between  thumb  and  forefinger  like  the  hands 
of  people  sculptured  in  bas  reliefs  on  Egyptian  tombs. 

But  such  lovely  girls  he  paints! — so  exquisite!  He  is  a 
very  odd  man — with  a  fixed  gaze,  and  speaks  as  though  he 
were  a  trifle  deaf — or  drugged,  or  something.  .  .  . 

You  haven't  said  much  about  yourself,  Jim,  in  your  last 
letters;  and  also  your  letters  arrive  at  longer  and  longer  in- 
tervals. 

Somehow,  I  think  that  you  are  becoming  reconciled  to 
Paris.  I  don't  believe  you  feel  very  lonely  any  longer.  But 
what  do  you  do  to  amuse  yourself  after  your  hours  of  work 
are  ended?  And  who  are  your  new  friends  over  there?  For, 
of  course,  you  must  have  made  new  friends — I  don't  mean 
the  students  whose  names  you  have  occasionally  mentioned. 
Haven't  you  met  any  nice  girls? 

He  did  not  mention  having  met  any  girls,  nice  or 
otherwise,  when  he  wrote  again.  He  did  say  that  he 
was  enjoying  his  work  and  that  he  had  begun  to  feel 
a  certain  affection  for  Paris — particularly  after  he  had 
been  away  travelling  in  Germany,  Spain  and  Italy. 

165 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Really,  he  admitted,  it  was  like  coming  home.  The 
usual  was  still  happening  to  James  Cleland. 

He  had  an  apartment,  now,  overlooking  the  Luxem- 
bourg Gardens.  He  had  friends  to  dinner  sometimes. 
There  was  always  plenty  to  do.  Life  had  become  very 
inspiring.  The  French  theatres  were  a  liberal  educa- 
tion ;  French  literature  a  miracle  of  artistic  clarity  and 
a  model  for  all  young  aspirants.  In  fact,  the  spring 
source  of  all  art  was  France,  and  Paris  the  ornamental 
fountain  jet  from  which  flashed  the  ever-living  waters 
that  all  may  quaff. 

Very  pretty.  He  did  not  add  that  some  of  the 
waters  were  bottled  and  kept  in  pails  of  chopped  ice. 

He  wrote  many  gracefully  composed  pages — when 
he  wrote  at  all — concerning  the  misty  beauty  of  the 
French  landscape  and  the  effect  of  the  rising  sun  of 
Notre  Dame.  He  had  seen  it  rise  several  times. 

But,  on  the  whole,  he  behaved  discreetly  and  with 
much  circumspection ;  and  within  his  youthful  heart  lay 
that  deathless  magic  of  the  creative  mind  which  trans- 
mutes leaden  reality  into  golden  romance — which  is 
blind  to  the  sordid  and  which  transforms  it  into  the 
picturesque. 

A  saucy  smile  from  a  pretty  girl  on  an  April  day 
germinated  into  a  graceful  string  of  verses  by  night ; 
a  chance  encounter  by  the  Seine,  a  laugh,  a  gay  adieu 
— and  a  delicate  short  story  was  born,  perhaps  to  be 
laboured  over  and  groomed  and  swaddled  and  nourished 
into  life — or  to  be  abandoned,  perhaps,  in  the  back 
yard  of  literary  debris. 

Life  ran  evenly  and  pleasantly  for  Cleland  in  those 
deathless  days — light,  happy,  irresponsible  days  when 
idleness  becomes  saturated  with  future  energy  un- 
awares; when  the  seeds  of  inspiration  fall  thicker  and 

166 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


thicker  and  take  root ;  when  the  liberality,  the  vastness, 
and  the  inspiration  of  the  world  begin  to  dawn  upon  a 
youthful  intellect,  not  oppressively,  but  with  a  wide  and 
reassuring  kindliness. 

There  was  a  young  girl — very  pretty,  whose  loneli- 
ness made  her  not  too  conventional.  After  several  en- 
counters on  the  stairs,  she  smiled  in  response ;  and  they 
crossed  the  Luxembourg  Gardens  together,  strolling  in 
the  chestnut  shade  and  exchanging  views  of  life. 

The  affair  continued — charming  and  quite  harmless 
— a  touch  of  tragedy  and  tears  one  evening — and  the 
boy  deeply  touched  and  temporarily  in  love — in  love 
with  love,  temporarily  embodied  in  this  blue-eyed,  white- 
skinned,  slender  girl  who  had  wandered  with  him  close 
to  the  dead  line  and  was  inclined  to  cross  it — with 
him. 

He  had  a  delightfully  wretched  hour  of  renunciation 
— and  was  rewarded  with  much  future  material,  though 
he  didn't  know  it  at  the  time. 

There  were  tears — several.  It  is  not  certain  that 
she  spiritually  appreciated  the  situation.  That  sort 
of  gratitude  seldom  is  genuine  in  the  feminine  heart. 

But  such  things  are  very  real  to  the  creative  mind, 
and  Cleland  was  far  too  unhappy  to  sleep — deeply  wal- 
lowing in  martyrdom.  Fate  laughed  and  pinned  this 
little  episode  on  the  clothes-line  to  dry  out  with  the 
others — quite  a  little  line-full,  now,  all  fluttering  gaily 
there  and  drying  in  the  sun.  And  after  a  proper  in- 
terval Cleland  went  about  the  business  of  washing  out 
a  few  more  samples  of  experience  in  the  life  and  man- 
ners and  customs  of  his  time,  later  to  be  added  to  the 
clothes-line  wash. 

He  had  to  prod  himself  to  write  to  Stephanie.  He 
was  finding  it  a  little  difficult  to  discover  very  much  to 

167 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


say  to  her.  In  youth  two  people  grow  apart  during 
absence  much  faster  than  they  grow  together  when  in 
each  other's  company. 

It  was  so  with  Cleland  and  Stephanie — less  so  with 
her. 

Not  seeing  her  for  nearly  two  years  left  him  with 
the  unconscious  impression  that  she  had  not  altered 
during  that  period — that  she  was  still  the  same  young 
girl  he  had  left,  no  more  mature,  no  more  experienced, 
little  wiser. 

Her  letters  were  interesting  but  he  had  lost  touch, 
in  a  measure,  with  interests  and  people  at  home.  He 
had  adapted  himself  to  the  new  angle  of  vision,  to  the 
new  aspect  of  life,  to  new  ideals,  new  aspirations.  He 
was  at  the  source  of  inspiration,  drinking  frequently 
at  times,  always  unconsciously  absorbing. 

At  the  end  of  the  two  years  he  had  no  desire  to  re- 
turn to  New  York. 

A  series  of  voluminous  letters  passed  between  him 
and  Stephanie  and  between  him  and  Miss  Quest. 

He  had  plenty  of  excuses  for  remaining  another 
year;  his  education  was  not  completed;  he  needed  a 
certain  atmosphere  and  a  certain  environment  which 
could  be  enjoyed  only  in  Europe. 

Of  course,  if  he  were  needed  in  New  York,  etc.,  etc. 

No,  he  wasn't  needed.  Matters  could  be  attended 
to.  The  house  in  80th  Street  ought  to  be  closed  as  it 
was  a  useless  expense  to  keep  the  servants  there. 

Poor  old  Meacham  had  died;  Janet,  too,  was  dead; 
Lizzie  had  gone  back  to  Ireland.  The  house  in  town 
should,  therefore,  be  closed  and  wired;  and  the  house 
in  the  country,  "Runner's  Rest,"  should  remain  closed 
and  in  charge  of  the  farmer  who  had  always  looked  out 
for  it. 

168 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


This  could  be  attended  to;  no  need  of  his  coming 
back. 

So  he  wrote  his  directons  to  Stephanie  and  settled 
down  again  with  a  sigh  of  relief  to  the  golden  days 
which  promised. 

His  work,  now  deeply  coloured  by  Gallic  influence 
and  environment,  had  developed  to  that  stage  of  em- 
bryonic promise  marred  by  mannerisms  and  affecta- 
tions. His  style,  temporarily  spoiled  by  a  sort  of 
Franco- American  jargon,  became  involved  in  the 
swamps  of  psychological  subtleties,  emerging  jerkily  at 
times,  or  relapsing  into  Debussy-like  redundancy. 

Nobody  wanted  his  short  stories,  his  poems,  his  im- 
pressions. Publishers  in  London  and  in  America  re- 
turned "Day  Dreams"  and  "Out  of  the  Depths"  with 
polite  regrets.  He  sounded  every  depth  of  despond- 
ency and  self -distrust ;  he  soared  on  wings  of  hope 
again,  striving  to  keep  his  gaze  on  the  blinding  source 
of  light,  only  to  become  confused  and  dazzled  in  the 
upper  oceans  and  waver  and  flutter  and  come  tumbling 
down,  frantically  beating  the  too  rarified  atmosphere 
with  unaccustomed  wings. 

Nobody  could  tell  him.  He  had  to  find  out  the  way. 
He  had  within  him  what  was  worth  saying ;  had  not  yet 
learned  how  to  say  it.  The  massed  testimony  of  the 
masters  lay  heavily  undigested  within  him;  he  was  too 
richly  fed,  stuffed;  the  intricacies  and  complexities  of 
technique  worried  and  disheartened  him ;  he  felt  too 
keenly,  too  deeply  to  keep  a  clear  mind  and  a  cool 
one. 

Every  sense  he  possessed  was  necessary  to  him  in 
his  creative  work;  emotion,  intense  personal  sympathy 
with  his  characters,  his  theme,  clogged,  checked  and 
halted  inspiration,  smothering  simplicity  and  clarity. 

1G9 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


This  was  a  phase.  He  had  the  usual  experience.  He 
struggled  through  it  and  onward. 

Stephanie  wrote  that  she  had  graduated,  but  that 
as  her  aunt  was  ill  she  would  remain  for  the  present  at 
the  hospital. 

He  felt  that  he  ought  to  go  back.  And  did  not.  He 
was  in  a  dreadfully  involved  dilemma  with  his  new 
novel,  "Renunciation" — all  about  a  woman — one  of  the 
sort  he  never  had  met — and  no  wonder  he  was  in  a 
mess !  Besides  that,  and  in  spite  of  the  gaily  coloured 
line  of  rags  fluttering  on  the  clothes-line  of  experience, 
he  knew  very  little  about  women.  One  day,  when  he 
came  to  realize  that  he  knew  nothing  at  all  about  them, 
he  might  begin  to  write  about  them,  convincingly  and 
acceptably.  But  he  was  not  yet  as  far  along  as  that 
in  his  education. 

He  had  a  desperate  affair  with  an  engaging  woman 
of  the  real  world — a  countess.  She  took  excellent  care 
of  herself,  had  a  delightful  time  with  Cleland,  and,  in 
gratitude,  opened  his  eyes  to  the  literary  morass  in 
which  he  had  been  wading. 

Clear-minded,  witty,  charming,  very  lovely  to  look 
upon,  she  read  and  criticised  what  he  wrote,  discussed, 
consulted,  advised,  and,  with  exquisite  tact,  divining 
the  boy's  real  talent,  led  him  deftly  to  solid  land  again. 
And  left  him  there,  enchanted,  miserable,  inspired,  heart- 
broken, with  a  laughing  admonition  to  be  faithful  to 
her  memory  while  she  enjoyed  her  husband's  new  post 
at  the  Embassy  in  Sofia. 

He  wrote,  after  her  departure,  a  poem  simple  enough 
for  a  child  to  understand.  And  tucked  it  away  with  a 
ribbon  and  a  dried  flower  in  his  portfolio.  It  was  the 
first  good  thing  he  had  ever  written.  But  he  remained 
unconscious  of  the  fact  for  a  long  time. 

170 


Besides,  other  matters  were  bothering  him,  in  par- 
ticular a  letter  from  Miss  Quest: 

I  am  not  well.  I  shall  not  be  better.  Still,  there  is  no 
particular  hurry  about  your  returning. 

Stephanie  remains  with  me  very  loyally.  She  has  grad- 
uated; she  is  equipped  with  a  profession.  She  has  turned 
into  a  very  lovely  woman  to  look  upon. 

But  that  sex  restlessness  which  now  overwhelmingly  ob- 
sesses the  world,  possesses  her.  Freedom  from  all  restraint, 
liberty  to  work  out  and  accomplish  her  own  destiny,  con- 
tempt of  convention,  utter  disregard  of  established  formality, 
and  hostility  to  custom,  enroll  her  among  the  vast  army  of 
revolutionists  now  demanding  a  revision  of  all  laws  and  cus- 
toms made  by  one  sex  alone  to  govern  the  conduct  of  both. 

You  and  I  once  conversed  on  this  subject,  if  you  remem- 
ber. I  told  you  what  I  feared.  And  it  has  happened:  Steph- 
anie has  developed  along  radical  lines.  With  everything  revo- 
lutionary in  the  world-wide  feminist  movement  she  is  in 
sympathy.  Standards  that  have  been  standards  are  no  longer 
so  to  her.  To  the  world's  conservatism  she  is  fiercely  and 
youthfully  hostile;  equality,  tolerance,  liberty  are  the  only 
guide-posts  she  pretends  to  recognize. 

I  shall  not  live  to  see  the  outcome  of  this  world-wide 
propaganda  and  revolt.  I  don't  want  to.  But,  in  my  opin- 
ion, it  takes  a  strong  character,  already  accustomed  to  lib- 
erty, to  keep  its  balance  in  this  dazzling  flood  let  in  by  open- 
ing prison  doors.  .  .  . 

I  have  left  Stephanie  what  property  I  have  outside  of  that 
invested  and  endowed  to  maintain  my  Home  for  Defective 
Children.  Securities  have  shrunk;  it  is  not  much.  It  may 
add  four  thousand  dollars  to  her  present  income. 

Mr.  Cleland,  you  and  Stephanie  have  gradually  and  very 
naturally  grown  apart  since  your  absence.  I  don't  know 
what  you  have  developed  into.  But  you  were  a  nice  boy. 

Stephanie  is  a  beautiful,  willful,  intelligent,  and  I  fear 
slightly  erratic  woman,  alive  with  physical  and  mental  vigour, 
restless  and  sensitive  under  pressure  of  control,  yet  to  be 
controlled  through  her  affections  first,  and  only  afterward 
through  her  reason. 

171 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


These  are  unconventional  times;  a  new  freedom  is  dawn- 
ing, and  to  me  the  dawn  seems  threatening.  I  am  too  old, 
too  near  my  end  not  to  feel  that  the  old  regime,  with  all  its 
drawbacks,  was  safer  for  women,  productive  of  better  re- 
sults, less  hazardous,  less  threatening. 

But  I  don't  know:  I  am  old-fashioned  except  in  theory. 
I  have  professed  the  creed  of  the  new  feminism;  I  have  in  my 
time — and  very  properly — denounced  the  tyranny  and  self- 
ishness and  injustice  of  man-made  laws  which  fetter  and 
cripple  my  sex. 

But — at  heart — and  with  not  very  many  days  left  to  me 
— at  heart  I  am  returning  rather  wearily  along  the  way  I 
came  toward  what,  now  to  me,  seems  safer.  It  may  be  only 
the  notions  of  an  old  woman,  very  tired,  very  sad,  conscious 
of  failure,  and  ready  to  rest  and  leave  the  responsibility  where 
it  originated  and  where  it  belongs.  I  don't  know.  But  I 
wish  Stephanie  were  not  alone  in  the  world. 

Miss  Quest  died  before  the  letter  reached  him. 
Stephanie's  next  letter  informed  him  of  all  the  details. 
She  continued: 

No  use  your  coming  back  until  you  are  quite  ready,  Jim. 
There's  nothing  for  you  to  do. 

I've  taken  a  studio  and  apartment  with  Helen  Davis,  the 
animal  sculptor.  I  don't  yet  know  just  what  I  shall  do.  I'm 
likely  to  try  several  things  before  I  know  what  I  ought  to 
stick  to. 

Don't  feel  any  absurd  sense  of  responsibility  for  me.  That 
would  be  too  silly.  Feel  free  to  remain  abroad  as  long  as  it 
suits  you.  I  also  feel  absolutely  free  to  go  and  come  as  I 
please.  That's  the  best  basis  for  our  friendship,  Jim,  and, 
in  fact,  the  necessary  and  vital  basis.  My  affection  is  un- 
altered, but,  somehow,  it  has  been  such  a  long  time  that  you 
seem  almost  unreal  to  me. 

He  did  not  sail  at  once.  After  all,  in  the  face  of 
such  an  unmistakable  declaration  of  independence,  it 
did  not  seem  worth  while  for  him  to  arouse  himself  from 

172 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


the  golden  lethargy  of  enchantment  and  break  the  spell 
of  Europe  which  held  him  content,  amid  the  mellow 
ripeness  of  her  capitals  and  the  tinted  splendour  of 
her  traditions. 

He  wrote  frequently  for  a  few  months.  Then  his 
letters  lagged. 

Once  his  prett}'  Countess  had  warned  him  that,  for 
an  American,  Europe  was  merely  the  school-room  but 
his  own  country  was  the  proper  and  only  place  for 
creative  labour. 

He  remembered  this  at  intervals,  a  little  uneasy,  a 
trifle  conscious-stricken  because  he  shrank  from  mak- 
ing an  end  to  preparation — because  he  still  loitered, 
disinclined  to  break  the  golden  web  and  return  to  the 
clear,  shadowless  skies  and  the  pitiless  sun  of  the  real 
world  where  he  belonged,  and  where  alone,  he  knew, 
was  the  workshop  for  which  he  had  been  so  leisurely 
preparing. 

Then  the  shock  came — the  bolt  out  of  the  blue. 

The  cablegram  said: 

I  married  Oswald  Grismer  this  morning. 

STEPHANIE. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

HE  sailed  in  April.  When  he  sailed,  he  knew  he 
would  not  come  back  for  many  years,  if  ever. 
His  business  here  was  done,  the  dream  of 
Europe  ended.  The  cycle  of  Cathay  awaited  him  in 
all  its  acrid  crudity. 

Yes,  the  golden  web  was  rent,  torn  across,  destroyed. 
The  shock  to  his  American  mind  left  nothing  of  the 
lotus  eater  in  him.  He  was  returning  where  he  be- 
longed. 

Married !  Steve  married !  To  Oswald  Grismer,  who, 
save  as  a  schoolboy  and  later  in  college,  was  a  doubtful 
and  unknown  quantity  to  him. 

He  had  never  known  Grismer  well.  Since  their 
schoolboy  differences,  they  had  been  good  enough 
friends  when  thrown  together,  which  had  been  infre- 
quently. He  had  no  particular  liking  for  Grismer,  no 
dislike.  Grismer  had  been  a  clever,  adroit,  amusing 
man  in  college,  generally  popular,  yet  with  no  intima- 
cies, no  close  friends. 

As  for  Steve,  he  never  dreamed  that  Stephanie  would 
do  such  a  thing.  It  was  so  damnably  silly,  so  utterly 
unthinkable  a  thing  to  do. 

And  in  his  angry  perplexity  and  growing  resentment, 
Cleland's  conscience  hurt  as  steadily  as  a  toothache. 
He  ought  to  have  been  home  long  ago.  He  should  have 
gone  back  at  the  end  of  his  two  years.  His  father  had 
trusted  him  to  look  out  for  Steve,  and,  in  spite  of  her 

174 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


rather  bumptious  letters  proclaiming  her  independence, 
he  should  have  gone  back  and  kept  an  eye  on  her, 
whether  or  not  she  liked  it. 

In  his  astonishment  and  unhappiness,  he  did  not 
know  what  to  write  her  when  the  cablegram  came  hurt- 
ling into  his  calm  and  delightfully  ordered  life  and 
blew  up  the  whole  fabric. 

Sometimes,  to  himself,  he  called  her  a  "little  fool"; 
sometimes  "poor  little  Steve."  But  always  he  unfeign- 
edly  cursed  Grismer  and  bitterly  blamed  himself. 

The  affair  made  him  sick  at  heart  and  miserable,  and 
ruined  any  pleasure  remaining  in  his  life  and  work. 

He  did  not  cable  her ;  he  wrote  many  letters  and  tore 
all  of  them  to  bits.  It  was  beyond  him  to  accept  the 
fait  accompli,  beyond  him  to  write  even  politely,  let 
alone  with  any  pretense  of  cordiality. 

His  resentment  grew  steadily,  increased  by  self-re- 
proach. What  kind  of  man  had  Oswald  Grismer  grown 
into?  What  kind  of  insolence  was  this — his  marrying 
Steve 

"Damn  his  yellow  soul,  I'll  wring  his  neck!"  mut- 
tered Cleland,  pacing  the  deck  of  the  Cunarder  in  the 
chilly  April  sunshine. 

But  the  immense  astonishment  of  it  still  possessed 
him.  He  couldn't  imagine  Steve  married.  Why  had 
she  married?  What  earthly  reason  was  there?  It  was 
incredible,  absurd. 

Still  in  his  mind  lingered  the  image  of  the  girl 
Stephanie  whom  he  remembered  as  he  last  had  seen 
her. 

Once  or  twice,  too,  thinking  of  that  time,  and  con- 
juring up  all  he  could  picture  of  her,  he  remembered 
the  delicate  ardour  of  her  parting  embrace,  the  fragrant 
warmth  of  her  mouth,  and  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

175 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


It  angered  him  oddly  to  remember  it — to  think  of 
her  as  the  wife  of  Oswald  Grismer.  The  idea  seemed 
unendurable ;  it  threw  him  into  a  rage  against  this  man 
who  had  so  suddenly  taken  Stephanie  Quest  out  of  his 
life. 

"Damn  him !  Damn  him !"  he  muttered,  staring  out 
over  the  wind-whipped  sea.  "I'd  like  to  twist  his  neck ! 
There's  something  queer  about  this.  I'll  take  her  away 
from  him  if  I  can.  I'll  do  everything  I  can  to  take 
her  away  from  him.  I  want  her  back.  I'll  get  her  back 
if  it's  possible.  How  can  she  care  for  Grismer?" 

He  had  nobody,  now,  to  return  to ;  no  home,  for  th^ 
house  was  closed ;  no  welcome  to  expect. 

He  had  not  written  her  that  he  was  coming;  he  had 
no  desire  to  see  her  at  the  steamer  with  Grismer.  With 
a  youthful  heart  full  of  indefinable  bitterness  and  self- 
contempt  that  his  own  indifference  and  selfishness  had 
brought  Steve  and  himself  to  such  a  pass,  he  paced  the 
decks  day  after  day,  making  no  acquaintances,  keeping 
to  himself. 

And  one  night  the  great  light  on  Montauk  Point 
stared  at  him  across  leagues  of  unseen  water.  He  was 
in  touch  again  with  his  own  half  of  the  earth,  nearing 
the  edges  of  the  great,  raw,  sprawling  Continent  where 
no  delicate  haze  of  tradition  softened  sordid  facts ; 
where  there  reigned  no  calm  and  ordered  philosophy  of 
life;  where  everything  was  in  extremes;  where  every- 
thing was  etched  sharply  against  aggressive  back- 
grounds ;  where  there  were  no  misty  middle  distances, 
no  tranquil  spaces ;  only  the  roaring  silences  of  deserts 
to  mitigate  the  yelling  dissonance  of  life. 

He  saw  the  sun  on  the  gilded  tips  of  snowy  towers 
piled  up  like  Alpine  cliffs ;  the  vast  webs  of  bridges 
stretching  athwart  a  leaden  flood;  forests  of  masts 

176 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


and  huge  painted  funnels;  acres  of  piers  and  docks; 
myriads  of  craft  crossing  and  recrossing  the  silvery 
flood  flowing  between  great  cities. 

On  the  red  castle  to  the  southwest  a  flag  flew,  sun- 
dyed,  vivid,  lovely  as  a  flower. 

His  eyes  filled;  he  choked. 

"Thank  God,"  he  thought,  "I'm  where  I  belong  at 
last!" 

And  so  Cleland  came  home. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IT  was  late  afternoon  before  Cleland  got  his  lug- 
gage unpacked  and  himself  settled  in  the  Hotel 
Rochambeau,  where  he  had  been  driven  from  the 
steamer  and  had  taken  rooms. 

The  French  cuisine,  the  French  proprietor  and  per- 
sonnel, the  French  cafe  in  front,  all  helped  to  make  his 
home-coming  a  little  less  lonely  and  strange.  Sunlight 
fell  oil  the  quaint  yellow  brick  fa9ade  and  old-fashioned 
wrought  iron  railings,  and  made  his  musty  rooms  and 
tarnished  furniture  and  hangings  almost  cheerful. 

He  had  not  telephoned  to  Stephanie.  He  had  noth- 
ing to  say  to  her  over  the  wire.  From  the  moment  he 
crossed  the  gang-plank  the  growing  resentment  had 
turned  to  a  curious,  impotent  sort  of  anger  which  ex- 
cited him  and  stifled  any  other  emotion. 

She  had  not  known  that  he  was  coming  back.  He 
had  made  no  response  to  her  cablegram.  She  could  not 
dream  that  he  had  landed ;  that  he  was  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  her  lodgings. 

The  whole  thing,  too,  seemed  unreal  to  him — to  find 
himself  here  in  New  York  again  amid  its  clamour,  its 
dinginess,  its  sham  architecture  and  crass  ugliness ! — 
back  again  in  New  York — and  everything  in  his  life  so 
utterly  changed ! — no  home — the  80th  Street  house  still 
closed  and  wired  and  the  old  servants  gone  or  dead; 
and  the  city  empty  of  interest  and  lonely  as  a  wilder- 
ness to  him  since  his  father's  death — and  now  Steve 

178 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


gone!  nothing,  now,  to  hold  him  here — for  the  ties  of 
friends  and  clubs  had  loosened  during  his  years  abroad, 
and  his  mind  and  spirit  had  become  formed  in  other 
moulds. 

Yet  here  he  knew  he  must  do  his  work  if  ever  he  was 
to  do  any.  Here  was  the  place  for  the  native-born — 
here  his  workshop  where  he  must  use  and  fashion  all 
that  he  had  witnessed  and  learned  of  life  during  the 
golden  hours  through  which  he  sauntered  under  the 
lovely  skies  of  an  older  civilization. 

Here  was  the  place  and  now  was  the  time  for  self- 
expression,  for  creative  work,  for  the  artistic  inter- 
pretation of  the  life  and  manners  of  his  own  people. 

If  he  was  to  do  anything,  be  anybody,  attain  distinc- 
tion, count  among  writers  of  his  era,  he  knew  that 
his  effort  lay  here — here  where  he  was  born  and  lived 
his  youth  to  manhood — here  where  the  tension  of  fe- 
verish living  never  relaxed,  where  a  young,  high-mettled, 
high-strung  nation  was  clamouring  and  fretting  and 
quarrelling  and  forging  ahead,  now  floundering  aside 
after  some  will-o'-the-wisp,  now  scaling  stupendous 
moral  heights,  noisy,  half-educated,  half-civilized,  sus- 
picious, flippant,  bragging,  sentimental,  yet  iron- 
hearted,  generous  and  brave. 

Here,  on  the  nation's  eastern  edge,  where  the  shat- 
tering dissonance  of  the  iron  city  never  ceased  by  day ; 
where  its  vast,  metallic  vibration  left  the  night  eternally 
nnquiet  and  the  very  sky  quivering  with  the  blows  of 
sound  under  the  stars'  incessant  sparkle — here,  after 
all,  was  where  he  belonged.  Here  he  must  have  his  say. 
Here  lay  his  destiny.  And,  for  the  sake  of  all  this  which 
was  his,  and  for  no  other  reason,  was  attainment  and 
distinction  worth  his  effort. 

All  this  good  and  evil,  all  this  abominable  turmoil  and 

179 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


futile  discord,  all  this  relentless,  untiring  struggle  deep 
in  the  dusty,  twilight  canons  and  steel  towers  with 
their  thin  skins  of  stone — all  the  passions  of  these  peo- 
ple, and  their  motives  and  their  headlong  strivings  and 
their  creeds  and  sentiments,  false  or  true  or  misguided 
— these  things  were  his  to  interpret,  to  understand,  to 
employ. 

For  these  people,  and  for  their  cities,  for  their  am- 
bitions, desires,  aspirations — for  the  vast  nation  of 
which  they  formed  their  local  fragment — only  a  native- 
born  could  be  their  interpreter,  their  eulogist,  their  de- 
fender, their  apologist,  and  their  prophet.  And  for 
their  credit  alone  was  there  any  reason  for  his  life's  en- 
deavour. 

No  cultured,  suave  product  of  generations  of  Eu- 
rope's cultivation  could  handle  these  people  and  these 
themes  convincingly  and  with  the  subtle  comprehension 
of  authority.  Rod  and  laurel,  scalpel  and  palm  should 
be  touched  only  by  the  hand  of  the  native-born. 

His  pretty  Countess  had  said  to  him  once: 

"Only  what  you  have  seen,  what  you  have  lived  and 
seen  others  live;  only  what  you  detect  from  the  clear- 
minded,  cool,  emotionless  analysis  of  your  own  people, 
is  worth  the  telling.  Only  this  carries  conviction. 
And,  when  told  with  all  the  cunning  simplicity  and  skill 
of  an  artist,  it  carries  with  it  that  authority  which 
leaves  an  impression  indelible!  Go  back  to  your  own 
people — if  you  really  have  anything  to  write  worth 
reading." 

Thinking  of  these  things,  he  locked  his  door  on  rooms 
now  more  or  less  in  order,  and  went  out  into  the  street. 

It  was  too  warm  for  an  overcoat.  A  primrose  sun- 
set light  filled  the  street;  the  almost  forgotten  specific 
odour  of  New  York  invaded  his  memory  again — an 

180 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


odour  entirely  different  from  that  of  any  other  city. 
For  every  city  in  the  world  has  its  own  odour — not  al- 
ways a  perfume. 

Now,  again,  his  heart  was  beating  hard  and  fast  at 
thought  of  seeing  Stephanie,  and  the  same  indefinable 
anger  possessed  him — not  directed  entirely  against  any- 
one, but  inclusive  of  himself,  and  her,  and  Grismer,  and 
his  own  helplessness  and  isolation. 

The  street  she  lived  in  was  quiet.  There  seemed  to 
be  a  number  of  studios  along  the  block.  In  a  few  min- 
utes he  saw  the  number  he  was  looking  for. 

Four  brick  dwelling  houses  had  been  made  over  into 
one  with  studios  on  every  floor — a  rather  pretty 
Colonial  effect  with  green  shutters,  white  doorway,  and 
iron  fence  painted  white. 

In  the  quaint  vestibule  with  its  classic  fanlight  and 
delicate  side-lights,  he  found  her  name  on  a  letter  box 
and  pushed  the  electric  button.  The  street  door  swung 
open  noiselessly. 

On  the  ground  floor,  facing  him  on  the  right,  he 
saw  a  door  on  which  was  a  copper  plate  bearing  the 
names,  "Miss  Davis ;  Miss  Quest."  The  door  opened 
as  he  touched  the  knocker;  a  young  girl  in  stained 
sculptor's  smock  stood  there  regarding  him  inquiringly, 
a  cigarette  between  her  pretty,  clay-stained  fingers. 

"Miss "  he  checked  himself,  reddening — "Mrs. 

Grismer,  I  mean?"  he  asked. 

The  girl  laughed.  She  was  brown-eyed,  pink-cheeked, 
compactly  and  beautifully  moulded,  and  her  poise  and 
movement  betrayed  the  elasticity  of  superb  health. 

"She's  out  just  now.     Will  you  come  in  and  wait?" 

He  went  in,  aware  of  clay  studies  on  revolving  stands, 
academic  studies  in  unframed  canvases,  charcoal  draw~ 
ings  from  the  nude,  thumb-tacked  to  the  wall — the 

181 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


usual  mess  of  dusty  draperies,  decrepit  and  nondescript 
furniture,  soiled  rugs  and  cherished  objects  of  art.  A 
cloying  smell  of  plasticine  pervaded  the  place.  A  large 
yellow  cat,  dozing  on  a  sofa,  opened  one  golden  eye  a 
little  way,  then  closed  it  indifferently. 

The  girl  who  had  admitted  him  indicated  a  chair  and 
stepped  before  a  revolving  table  on  which  was  the 
roughly-modelled  sketch  of  a  horse  and  rider. 

She  picked  up  a  lump  of  waxy  material,  and,  knead- 
ing it  in  one  hand,  glanced  absently  at  the  sketch,  then 
looked  over  her  shoulder  at  Cleland  with  a  friendly, 
enquiring  air: 

"Miss  Quest  went  out  to  see  about  her  costume.  I 
suppose  she'll  be  back  shortly." 

"What  costume?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  didn't  you  know?  It's  for  the  Caricaturists' 
Ball  in  aid  of  the  Artists'  Fund.  It's  the  Ball  of  the 
Gods — the  great  event  of  the  season  and  the  last.  Evi- 
dently you  don't  live  in  New  York." 

"I  haven't,  recently." 

"I.  see.  Will  you  have  a  cigarette?"  She  pointed 
at  a  box  on  a  tea  tray ;  he  thanked  her  and  lighted  one. 
As  he  continued  to  remain  standing,  she  asked  him 
again  to  be  seated,  and  he  complied. 

She  continued  to  pinch  off  little  lumps  of  waxy,  pli- 
able composition  and  stick  them  on  the  horse.  Still 
fussing  with  the  sketch,  he  saw  a  smile  curve  her  cheek 
in  profile ;  and  presently  she  said  without  turning : 

"Why  did  you  speak  of  Stephanie  Quest  as  Mrs. 
Grismer?  We  don't,  you  know." 

"Why  not?    Isn't  she?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him  over  her  shoulder;  she  was 
startlingly  pretty,  fresh  and  smooth-skinned  as  a  child. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  she  asked,  with  that  same  little  hint 

182 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


of  friendly  curiosity  in  her  brown  eyes; — "I'm  Helen 
Davis,  Stephanie's  chum.  You  seem  to  know  a  good 
deal  about  her." 

"I'm  James  Cleland,"  he  said  quietly,  " — her 
brother." 

At  that  the  girl's  brown  eyes  flew  wide  open: 

"Good  Heavens!"  she  said;  "did  Steve  expect  you? 
She  never  said  a  word  to  me !  I  thought  you  were  a 
fixture  in  Europe!" 

He  sat  biting  the  end  of  his  cigarette,  not  looking  at 
her: 

"She  didn't  expect  me,"  he  said,  flinging  the  half- 
burned  cigarette  into  the  silver  slop-dish  of  the  tea  serv- 
ice. "I  didn't  notify  her  that  I  was  coming." 

Helen  Davis  dropped  one  elbow  on  the  modelling 
table,  rested  her  rounded  chin  in  her  palm,  and  bent  her 
eyes  on  Cleland.  Smoke  from  the  cigarette  between  her 
fingers  mounted  in  a  straight,  thin  band  to  the  ceiling. 

"So  you  are  Steve's  Jim,"  she  mused  aloud.  "I  recog- 
nize you  now,  from  your  photographs,  only  you're  older 
and  thinner — and  you  wear  a  moustache.  .  .  .  You've 
been  away  a  long  while,  haven't  you?" 

"Too  long,"  he  said,  casting  a  sombre  look  at  her. 

"Oh,  do  you  feel  that  way?  How  odd  it  will  seem  to 
you  to  see  Steve  again.  She's  such  a  darling!  Quite 
wonderful,  Mr.  Cleland.  The  artists'  colony  in  New 
York  raves  over  her." 

"Does  it?"  he  said  drily. 

"Everybody  does.  She's  so  amusing,  so  clever,  so 
full  of  talent  and  animation — like  a  beautiful  and  mis- 
chievous thoroughbred  on  tip-toes  with  vitality  and  the 
sheer  joy  of  living.  She  never  is  in  low  spirits  or  do- 
pressed.  That's  what  fascinates  everybody — her  gaiety 
and  energy  and  high  spirits.  I  knew  her  in  college  and 

183 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


she  wasn't  quite  that  way  then.  Perhaps  because  she 
hated  college.  But  she  could  be  a  perfect  little  devil  if 
she  wanted  to.  She  can  be  that  still." 

Cleland  nodded  almost  absently ;  his  preoccupied  gaze 
travelled  over  the  disordered  studio  and  concentrated 
scowlingly  on  the  yellow  cat.  He  kept  twisting  the  head 
of  his  walking  stick  between  his  hands  and  staring  at 
the  animal  in  silence  while  Helen  Davis  watched  him. 
Presently,  and  without  any  excuse,  she  walked  slowly 
away  and  vanished  into  some  inner  room.  When  she 
returned,  she  had  discarded  her  working  smock,  and  her 
smooth  hands  were  slightly  rosy  from  a  recent  toilet. 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  some  tea,"  she  said,  striking 
a  match  and  lighting  the  lamp  under  the  kettle  at  his 
elbow. 

"Thanks,  no,"  he  said  with  an  effort. 

"Yes,  you  shall  have  some,"  she  insisted,  smiling  in 
her  gay  little  friendly  way.  "Come,  Mr.  Cleland,  you 
are  man  of  the  world  enough  to  waive  formality.  I'm 
going  to  sit  here  and  make  tea  and  talk  to  you.  Look 
at  me!  Wouldn't  you  like  to  be  friends  with  me? 
Most  men  would." 

He  looked  up,  and  his  slightly  drawn  features  re- 
laxed. 

"Yes,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "of  course  I  would." 

"That's  very  human  of  you,"  she  laughed.  "Shall 
we  talk  about  Steve  ?  What  did  you  think  of  that  cable- 
gram? Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  crazy  thing?" 

He  flushed  with  anger  but  said  nothing.  The  girl 
looked  at  him  intently  over  the  steaming  kettle,  then 
went  on  measuring  out  tea. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  about  it,  or  would  you  rather  that 
Steve  told  you?"  she  asked  carelessly,  busy  with  her 
preparations. 

184 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"She  is  actually  married  to — Grismer — then?" 

"Well — I  suppose  so.    You  know  him,  of  course." 

"Yes." 

"He  is  fascinating — in  that  unusual  way  of  his — 
poor  fellow.  Women  like  him  better  than  men  do.  One 
meets  him  everywhere  in  artistic  circles;  but  do  you 
know,  Mr.  Cleland,  I've  always  seemed  to  be  conscious 
of  a  curious  sort  of  latent  hostility  to  Oswald  Grismer, 
even  among  people  he  frequents — among  men,  particu- 
larly. However,  he  has  no  intimates." 

"If  they  are  actually  married,"  he  said  with  an  ef- 
fort, "why  does  Stephanie  live  here  with  you?" 

"Oh,  that  was  the  ridiculous  understanding.  I  my- 
self don't  know  why  she  married  him.  The  whole  affair 

was  a  crazy,  feather-brained  performance She 

poured  his  tea  and  offered  him  a  sugar  biscuit,  which 
he  declined. 

"You  see,"  she  continued,  curling  up  into  the  depths 
of  her  rickety  velvet  arm-chair  and  taking  her  cup  and 
a  heap  of  sugar  biscuits  into  her  lap,  "Oswald  Grismer 
has  been  Steve's  shadow — at  her  heels  always — and  I 
know  well  enough  that  Stephanie  was  not  insensible  to 
the  curious  fascination  of  the  man.  You  know  how 
devotion  impresses  a  girl — and  he  is  clever  and  good 
looking. 

"And  that  was  all  very  well,  and  I  don't  think  it 
would  have  amounted  to  anything  serious  as  long  as 
Oswald  was  the  amusing,  good-looking,  lazy  and 
rich  amateur  of  sculpture,  with  plenty  of  leisure  to 
saunter  through  life  and  be  charmingly  attentive, 
and  play  with  his  profession  when  the  whim  suited 
him." 

She  sipped  her  tea  and  looked  at  Cleland  medita- 
tively. 

185 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Did  you  know  he'd  lost  all  his  money?" 

"No,"  said  Cleland. 

"Oh,  yes.  He  lost  it  a  year  ago.  He  has  scarcely 
anything,  I  believe.  He  had  a  beautiful  studio  and 
apartment,  wonderful  treasures  of  antique  furniture; 
he  had  about  everything  a  rich  young  man  fancies.  It 
all  went." 

"What  was  the  matter?" 

"Nobody  knows.  He  took  a  horrid  little  stable 
studio  in  Bleecker  Street,  and  he  lives  there.  And 
that's  why  Steve  did  that  crazy,  impulsive  thing,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"You  mean  she  was  sorry  for  him?" 

"I  think  it  must  have  been  that — and  the  general 
fascination  he  had  for  her — and  his  persistency  and 
devotion.  Really,  I  don't  know,  myself,  how  she  came 
to  do  it.  She  did  it  on  one  of  her  ill-considered,  gen- 
erous, headlong  impulses.  Ask  her.  All  she  ever  told 
me  was  that  she  had  married  Oswald  and  didn't  know 
how  it  was  going  to  turn  out,  but  had  decided  to  keep 
her  own  name  for  the  present  and  continue  to  live  with 
me." 

"Do  they  see  each  other — much?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  they  encounter  each  other  here  and  there  as 
usual.  He  drops  in  here  every  day." 

"Does  she  go — there?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl  gravely. 

He  had  set  aside  his  tea,  untasted.  She,  still  curled 
up  in  her  arm-chair,  ate  and  drank  with  a  delightfully 
healthy  appetite. 

"Would  you  prefer  a  highball?"  she  enquired.  "I 
could  fix  you  one." 

"No,  thank  you."  He  rose  and  began  to  walk  nerv- 
ously about  the  studio. 

186 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Her  perplexed,  brown  eyes  followed  him.  It  was 
clear  that  she  could  not  make  him  out. 

Natural  chagrin  at  a  clandestine  marriage  might  ac- 
count for  his  manner.  Probably  it  was  that,  because 
Stephanie  could  not  have  meant  anything  more  per- 
sonal and  serious  to  him,  or  he  could  not  have  remained 
away  so  long. 

He  stopped  abruptly  in  his  aimless  promenade  and 
turned  to  Helen: 

"Am  I  in  the  way?"  he  asked. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Cleland,"  she  said,  "we  are  a  perfectly 
informal  community.  If  you  were  in  the  way  I'd  say 
so.  Also,  I  have  a  bed-room  where  I  can  retire  when 
Steve  comes  in.  Or  you  and  she  can  go  into  her  room 
to  talk  things  over."  She  lighted  another  cigarette, 
rose,  strolled  over  to  the  wax  horse,  with  a  friendly 
smile  at  him. 

"I  was  just  making  a  sketch,"  she  said.  "I've  a  jolly 
commission — two  bronze  horses  for  the  Hispano-Mo- 
resque  Museum.  The  Cid  is  on  one,  Saladin  on  the 
other.  I  was  just  fussing  with  an  idea  when  you 
rang." 

He  came  and  stood  beside  her,  looking  at  the  sketch. 

"I've  a  fine,  glass-roofed  courtyard  in  the  rear  of  the 
studio  for  my  animal  models — horses  and  dogs  and  any 
beast  I  require,"  she  explained.  "This  sort  of  thing 
comes  first,  of  course.  I  think  I'll  get  Oswald  to  pose 
for  the  Cid." 

She  stood  contemplating  her  sketch,  the  cigarette 
balanced  between  her  fingers ;  then,  of  a  sudden,  she 
turned  swiftly  around  to  confront  him. 

"Mr.  Cleland,  it  is  a  dreadful  and  foolish  and  irra- 
tional thing  that  Steve  has  done,  and  I  know  you  are 
justly  angry.  But — she  is  a  darling  in  spite  of  being  a 

187 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


feather-head  sometimes.  You  will  forgive  her,  won't 
you?" 

"Of  course.    After  all,  it  is  her  business." 

Helen  sighed: 

"You  are  angry.  But  please  don't  lose  interest  in 
her.  She's  so  loyal  to  you.  She  adores  you,  Mr.  Cle- 
land " 

A  key  rattled  in  the  lock ;  the  door  swung  open ;  into 
the  dusky  studio  stepped  a  slender  figure,  charmingly 
buoyant  and  graceful  in  the  fading  light. 

"Helen,  they're  to  send  our  costumes  in  an  hour. 
They  are  the  most  fascinating  things " 

Stephanie's  voice  ceased  abruptly.  There  was  a  si- 
lence. 

"Who  is — that?"  she  asked  unsteadily. 

Helen  turned  and  went  quietly  away  toward  her 
bed-room.  Stephanie  stood  as  though  frozen,  then 
reached  forward  and  pressed  the  electric  button  with  a 
gloved  finger  that  trembled. 

"Jim !"  she  whispered. 

She  stole  forward,  nearer,  close  to  him,  still  incredu- 
lous, her  grey  eyes  wide  with  excitement;  then,  with  a 
little  sobbing  cry  she  threw  both  arms  around  his  neck. 

She  had  laughed  and  cried  there  in  his  arms ;  her 
lovely  head  and  disordered  hair  witnessed  the  passionate 
ardour  of  her  welcome  to  this  man  who  now  sat  beside 
her  in  her  bed-room,  her  hands  clasped  in  his,  and  all 
her  young  soul's  adoration  in  her  splendid  eyes. 

"Oh,"  she  whispered  again  and  again,  " — Oh,  to 
have  you  back,  Jim.  That  is  too  heavenly  to  believe. 
You  dear,  dear  boy — so  good  looking — and  a  little 

older  and  graver She  nestled  close  to  him,  laying 

her  cheek  against  his. 

She  murmured: 

188 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"It  seems  too  delicious  to  endure.  You  do  love  me, 
don't  you,  Jim  ?  We  haven't  anybody  else  in  the  world 
except  each  other,  you  know.  Isn't  it  good — good  to 
have  each  other  again !  It's  been  like  a  dream,  your 
absence.  You  gradually  became  unreal — a  dear,  be- 
loved memory.  Somehow,  I  didn't  think  you'd  ever 
come  back.  Are  you  happy  to  be  with  me?" 

"Happier   than   you  know,    Steve "      His   voice 

trembled  oddly  and  he  drew  her  into  his  arms :  "Good 
God,"  he  said  under  his  breath,  " — I  must  have  been 
mad  to  leave  you  to  your  own  devices  so  long !  I  ought 
to  be  shot !" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Jim?" 

"You  know.  Oh,  Steve,  Steve,  I  can't  understand — 
I  simply  can  not  understand." 

After  a  silence  she  lifted  her  head  and  rested  her  lips 
softly  against  his  cheek. 

"Do  you  mean — my  marrying  Oswald?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.    Why  did  you  do  such  a  thing?" 

She  bent  her  head,  considering  the  question  for  a 
while  in  silence.  Then  she  said  calmly : 

"There's  one  reason  why  I  did  it  that  I  can't  tell 
you.  I  promised  him  not  to.  Another  reason  was  that 
he  was  very  much  in  love  with  me.  I  don't  know  exactly 
what  it  is  that  I  feel  for  him — but  he  does  fascinate 
me.  He  always  did,  somehow.  Even  as  a  boy " 

"You  didn't  know  him  as  a  boy !" 

"No.  But  I  saw  him  once.  And  I  realize  now  that 
I  was  even  then  vaguely  conscious  of  an  odd  interest  in 
him.  And  that  time  at  Cambridge,  too.  He  had  that 
same,  indefinable  attraction  for  me " 

"You  are  in  love  with  him  then !" 

"I  don't  know.  Jim,  I  don't  think  it  is  love.  I  don't 
think  I  know  what  love  really  is.  So,  knowing  this, 

189 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


but    being    grateful    to    him,    and    deeply    sorry 

"Why?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  why.  Perhaps  I'll  tell  you  some- 
time. But  I  was  very  grateful  and  sorry  and — and 
more  or  less  moved — fascinated.  It's  funny;  there 
are  things  I  don't  like  about  Oswald,  and  still  I  can't 
keep  away  from  him.  .  .  .  Well,  so  everything  seemed 
to  combine  to  make  me  try  it " 

"Try  what?" 

"Marrying  him." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'trying  it  ?' ' 

"Why,  it's  a  trial  marriage " 

"Good  God!"  he  said.     "What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  it's  a  trial  marriage,"  she  repeated  coolly. 

"You  mean  there  was  no — no  ceremony?"  he  stam- 
mered. 

"There  wasn't  any  ceremony.  We  don't  believe  in 
it.  We  just  said  to  each  other  that  we'd  marry " 

"You  mean  you've — 'you've  lived  with  that  man  on 
such  terms  of  understanding?"  he  demanded,  white  with 
rage. 

"I  don't  live  with  him.  I  live  here  with  Helen,"  she 
said,  perplexed.  "All  I  would  consent  to  was  a  trial 
marriage  to  see  how  it  went  for  a  year  or  two " 

"Do  you  mean  that  what  you've  done  is  legal?" 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  legal,"  she  said  seriously.  "I've  found 
that  out." 

"And — you  know  wh-what  I  mean,"  he  said,  stam- 
mering in  his  anger;  "Was  that  sufficient  for  you?  Do 
you  want  me  to  speak  plainer,  Steve?  I  mean,  have 
you — lived  with  him?" 

She  understood  and  dropped  her  reddening  cheek  on 
his  shoulder. 

"Have  you?"  he  repeated  harshly. 

100 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"No.  ...  I  thought  you  understood.  It  is  only  a 
trial  marriage;  I've  tried  to  explain  that — make  it 
clear " 

"What  loose-minded,  unconventional  Bohemians  call 
a  'trial  marriage,'  "  he  said,  with  brutal  directness,  "is 
an  agreement  between  a  pair  of  fools  to  live  as  man  and 
wife  for  a  while  with  an  understanding  that  a  formal 
ceremony  shall  ultimately  confirm  the  irregularity  if 
they  find  themselves  suited  to  each  other.  Is  that  what 
you've  done?" 

"No." 

He  drew  a  deep,  trembling  breath  of  relief,  took  her 
in  his  arms  and  held  her  close. 

"My  little  Steve,"  he  whispered,  " — my  own  little 
Steve!  What  sort  of  trap  is  this  he's  led  you 
into?" 

"No  trap.     I  wanted  to  try  it." 

"You  wished  it?" 

"I  was  quite  willing  to  try.  After  a  year  or  two,  I'll 
know  whether  I  shall  ever  care  to  live  with  him." 

"After  a  year  or  two!" 

"Yes.  That  was  the  understanding.  And  then,  if 
I  didn't  wish  to  live  with  him,  we  can  be  very  quietly 
divorced.  It  was  a  crazy  thing  to  do.  But  there  wasn't 
any  real  risk.  Besides "  She  hesitated. 

"Go  on,"  he  said. 

"No,  I  can't.  If  I  don't  fall  in  love  with  him,  I  cer- 
tainly shall  never  live  with  him.  So,"  she  added  calmly, 
"there'll  be  no  children  to  complicate  the  parting.  You 
see  I  had  some  sense,  Jim." 

She  lifted  her  head  from  his  shoulder  and  smiled  at 
him: 

"It  was  just  an  escapade  of  sorts,"  she  explained, 
more  cheerfully.  "It  really  doesn't  mean  anything  yet, 

191 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


and  I  fly  around  and  have  a  wonderful  time,  and  maybe 
I'll  take  up  sculpture  with  Helen,  and  maybe  I'll  try 

the  stage.  Anyway "  she  pressed  closer  to  him  with 

a  happy  sigh,  "I've  got  you  back,  haven't  I?  So  what 
do  we  care  whether  I'm  his  wife  or  not?" 

He  said,  holding  her  closely  embraced: 

"Suppose  some  other  man  should  fall  in  love  with 
you,  Steve?" 

"Oh!"  she  laughed.  "Plenty  do.  Or  say  they  do. 
I'm  nice  to  them,  and  they  get  along  very  well.  .  .  . 
Your  moustache  is  becoming  to  you,  Jim."  She  touched 
it  curiously,  with  one  tentative  finger. 

"But  suppose  you  should  return  another  man's  love 
some  day?" 

"I  haven't  ever!"  she  said,  laughing  back  into  his 
eyes. 

"No,  but  suppose  you  did?  And  found  yourself  tied 
legally  by  a  fool  agreement  to  Oswald  Grismer?" 

"Oh.    I  never  considered  that." 

"Consider  it,  now!" 

"It  isn't  likely  to  happen " 

"Consider  it,  all  the  same." 

"Well — but  I've  never  been  in  love.  But  if  it  hap- 
pened— well — that  would  be  a  jolly  mess,  wouldn't  it?" 

"I  should  think  so !    What  would  you  do  about  it  ?" 

"There  wouldn't  be  anything  to  do  except  to  wait 
until  my  two  years  of  trial  marriage  was  up,"  she  said 
thoughtfully. 

"You  could  divorce  him  before  that." 

"Oh,  no.    I  promised  to  give  him  two  years." 

"To  sit  saddled  with  this  ridiculous  burden  for  two 
years  ?" 

"Yes,  I  promised." 

"Oh,  Steve !    Steve !    What  a  muddle  you  have  made 

192 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


of  things !  What  good  does  it  do  you  or  him  to  have 
this  chain  between  you?  You've  lost  your  liberty. 
You're  a  legal  wife  without  being  one.  You've  put 
shackles  on  yourself  for  God  knows  what  whim  or  ca- 
price." 

"But,  Jim,"  she  said,  bewildered,  "I  expect  to  be  his 
wife,  ultimately. " 

"What?" 

"Of  course.  I  wasn't  absolutely  sure  that  I  could 
fall  in  love  with  him,  that  was  all.  I  have  very  little 
doubt  that  I  shall.  I  like  to  be  with  him ;  I  am  never 
bored  when  he  is  with  me;  our  tastes  are  similar;  our 
beliefs  are  unconventional.  We  suit  each  other  admir- 
ably. It  wasn't  such  a  rash  thing  to  do.  You  see,  it 
is  perfectly  safe  every  way." 

For  a  long  while  he  sat  beside  her  in  silence.  She 
had  slipped  out  of  his  arms  and  now  sat  with  one  hand 
lying  across  his,  watching  the  enigmatic  expressions 
which  flitted  over  his  rather  sombre  and  flushed  fea- 
tures. 

Finally  he  looked  up : 

"Steve?" 

"Yes?" 

"Suppose  7  fell  in  love  with — you?" 

"Oh,  Jim!"  She  began  to  laugh,  then  the  mirth 
faded  in  her  grey  eyes,  and  her  lips  grew  quiet  and 
rather  grave. 

"You?"  she  said,  half  to  herself. 

"Do  you  remember  some  letters  I  once  wrote  you?" 

"Yes." 

"You  wrote  asking  if  I  meant  them  to  be  love  let- 
ters." 

"Yes.  You  answered  very  vaguely.  I  think  I  fright- 
ened you,"  she  said,  laughing. 

193 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"They  were  love  letters,"  he  said.  "I  didn't  happen 
to  know  it;  that  is  all.  I  "was  in  love  with  you  then. 
I  didn't  realize  it;  you  did  not  believe  it.  But  now  I 
know  it  was  so." 

"How  could  you  have  been  in  love  with  me?"  she  in- 
quired, astonished. 

"You  asked  me  that  in  your  letters.  I  thought  it 
over  and  I  didn't  see  how  I  could  be,  either.  I  wasn't 
much  more  than  a  boy.  Boys  drift  with  the  prevailing 
tide.  The  tide  set  away  from  home  and  from  you.  .  .  . 
Yet,  I  was  in  love  with  you  once,  Steve." 

She  bent  her  head  and  looked  down  gravely  at  her 
slender  hand,  which  lay  across  his. 

"That  was  very  dear  of  you,"  she  murmured. 

After  a  silence : 

"And — you?"  he  asked. 

"Do  you  mean,  was  I  ever  in  love  with  you?" 

"Yes." 

"I — don't — know.  I  loved  your  letters.  There 
didn't  seem  to  be  any  room  in  my  heart  for  more  affec- 
tion than  it  held  for  you.  I  adored  you.  I  do  now. 
Perhaps,  if  you  had  come  back : 

"I  wish  I  had!" 

"Do  you?"  She  lifted  her  eyes  to  him  curiously. 
"You  know,  Jim,  I  must  be  honest  with  you.  I  never 
did  love  anybody.  .  .  .  But,  if  you  had  come  home — 
and  if  you  had  told  me  that  you  cared  for  me — that 


way 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  was  just  a  girl.  You  had  my  affections.  I 
could  have  been  taught  very  easily,  I  think — to  care — 
differently " 

"And— now?" 

"What?" 

194 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Is  it  too  late  to  teach  you,  Steve?" 

"Why,  yes.     Isn't  it?" 

"Why?" 

"I'm  married." 

"It's  a  flimsy,  miserable  business !"  he  began  angrily, 
but  she  flushed  and  checked  him  with  a  hand  against  his 
lips. 

"Besides — I  do  care  for  Oswald — very  deeply,"  she 
said.  "Don't  say  painful  things  to  me.  .  .  .  Don't 
be  sulky,  Jim,  dear.  This  is  disconcerting  me  dread- 
fully. We  mustn't  make  anything  tragic  out  of  it — 
anything  unhappy.  I'm  so  contented  to  have  you  back 
that  I  can't  think  of  anything  else.  .  .  .  Don't  let's 
bother  about  love  or  anything  else!  What  you  and  I 
feel  for  each  other  is  more  wonderful  than  love.  Isn't 
it?  Oh,  Jim,  I  do  adore  you.  We'll  be  with  each  other 
now  a  lot,  won't  we?  You'll  take  a  studio  in  this  dis- 
trict, and  I'll  fly  in  at  all  hours  to  see  you,  and  you'll 
come  in  to  see  me  and  we'll  do  things  together — every- 
thing— theatres,  dances,  pictures,  everything!  And 
you  will  like  Oswald,  won't  you?  He's  really  so  nice, 
poor  boy !" 

"All  right,"  he  muttered. 

They  rose ;  he  took  both  her  hands  into  his  and  looked 
intently  into  her  grey  eyes: 

"I  won't  spoil  life  for  you,"  he  said.  "I'll  be  near 
you,  now.  The  old  intimacy  must  be  strengthened. 
I've  failed  wretchedly  in  my  responsibilities ;  I'll  try 
to  make  up  for  my  selfishness " 

"Oh,  Jim !    I  don't  think  that  way " 

<cYou  are  too  generous.  You  are  too  loyal.  You 
are  quite  the  most  charming  woman  I  ever  knew,  Steve 
— the  sweetest,  the  most  adorable.  I've  been  a  fool — 
blind  and  stupid." 

195 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"You  mustn't  say  such  ridiculous  things !  But  it  is 
clear  of  you  to  find  me  attractive!  It  really  thrills 
me,  Jim.  I'm  about  the  happiest  girl  in  New  York,  I 
think!  Tell  me,  do  you  like  Helen?" 

"Yes,  she's  nice.  Where  are  you  dining,  Steve? 
Could  you " 

"Oh,  dear !  Helen  and  I  are  dining  out !  It's  a 
party.  We  all  go  to  the  ball.  But,  Jim — do  get  a  cos- 
tume of  some  sort  and  come  to  the  Caricaturists'  Ball ! 
Will  you?  Helen  and  I  are  going.  It's  the  Ball  of  the 
Gods — the  last  costume  ball  of  the  season,  and  it  is 
sure  to  be  amusing.  Will  you  come?" 

He  didn't  seem  to  think  he  could,  but  she  insisted  so 
eagerly  and  promised  to  have  an  invitation  at  his  hotel 
for  him  by  nine  o'clock,  that  he  laughed  and  said  he'd 

go- 

"Everybody  artistic  will  be  there,"  she  explained, 
delighted.  "You'll  meet  a  lot  of  men  you  know.  And 
the  pageant  will  be  wonderful.  I  shall  be  in  it.  So  will 
Helen.  Then,  after  the  pageant,  we'll  find  each  other 

— you  and  I ! "  She  sighed :  "I  am  too  happy,  Jim. 

I  don't  want  to  arouse  the  anger  of  the  gods." 

She  linked  her  arm  in  his  and  entered  the  studio. 

"Helen !"  she  called.  "Jim  is  coming  to  the  dance ! 
Isn't  it  delightful?" 

"It  is,  indeed,"  said  Helen,  opening  her  door  a  little 
and  looking  through  the  crack.  "You'd  better  tell  him 
what  you're  wearing,  because  he  will  never  know  you." 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed!  Helen  and  I  are  going  as  a  pair 

of  Burmese  idols — just  gold  all  over — you  know ?" 

She  took  the  stiff  attitude  of  the  wonderful  Burmese 
idol,  and  threw  back  her  slender  hands — "This  sort  of 
thing,  Jim?  Tiny  gold  bells  on  our  ankles  and  that 
wonderful  golden  filigree  head  dress." 

196 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


She  was  in  wonderful  spirits ;  she  caught  his  arm  and 
hand  and  persuaded  him  into  a  two-step,  humming  the 
air.  "You  dance  nicely,  Jim.  You  can  have  me  when- 
ever you  like " 

Helen  called  through  the  door: 

"You're  quite  mad,  Steve!  You've  scarcely  time  to 
dress." 

"Oh,  I  must  run !"  she  cried,  turned  to  Cleland,  au- 
daciously, offered  her  lips,  almost  defiantly. 

"We're  quite  safe,  Jim,  if  we  can  do  this  so  inno- 
cently." She  laughed.  "You  adorable  boy !  Oh,  Jim, 
you're  mine  now,  and  I'll  never  let  you  go  away  again !" 

As  he  went  out,  he  met  Grismer,  face  to  face.  The 
blood  leaped  hotly  in  his  cheeks ;  Grismer's  golden  eyes 
opened  in  astonishment: 

"Cleland !  By  all  the  gods !"  he  said,  offering  his 
hand. 

Cleland  took  it,  looked  into  Grismer's  handsome  face : 

"How  are  you,  Grismer?"  he  said  pleasantly.  And 
passed  on  out  of  the  front  door, 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

CLELAND  dined  by  himself  in  the  lively,  crowded 
cafe  of  the  Hotel  Rochambeau — a  sombre,  taci- 
turn young  man,  still  upset  by  his  encounter 
with     Grismer,     still    brooding    impotent     resentment 
against  what  Stephanie  had  done.     Yet,  in  spite  of  this 
the  thrill  of  seeing  her  again  persisted,  filling  him  with 
subdued  excitement. 

He  realized  that  the  pretty,  engaging  college  girl 
he  had  left  three  years  ago  had  developed  into  an 
amazingly  lovely  being  with  a  delicately  vigorous  and 
decisive  beauty  of  her  own,  quite  unexpected  by  him. 

But  there  was  absolutely  no  shyness,  no  awkward- 
ness, no  self-consciousness  in  her  undisguised  affection 
for  him ;  the  years  had  neither  altered  nor  subdued  her 
innocent  acceptance  of  their  relationship,  nor  made  her 
less  frank,  less  confident,  or  less  certain  of  it  and  of  the 
happy  security  it  meant  for  both. 

In  spite  of  her  twenty-one  years,  her  education,  her 
hospital  experience,  Stephanie,  in  this  regard,  was  a 
little  girl  still.  For  her  the  glamour  of  the  school-boy 
had  never  departed  from  Cleland  with  the  advent  of  his 
manhood.  He  was  still,  to  her,  the  wonderful  and  de- 
sirable playmate,  the  miraculous  new  brother,  the  ex- 
alted youth  of  her  girlhood;  the  beloved  and  ideal  of 
their  long  separation — all  she  had  on  earth  that  rep- 
resented a  substitute  for  kin  and  family  ties  and  home. 

That  her  loyal  heart  was  still  the  tender,  impulsive, 
198 


youthful  heart  of  a  girl  was  plain  enough  to  him.  The 
frankness  of  her  ardour,  her  instant  happy  surrender, 
her  clinging  to  him  in  a  passion  of  gratitude  and  de- 
light, all  told  him  her  story.  But  it  made  what  she  had 
done  with  Grismer  the  more  maddening  and  inexplic- 
able; and  at  every  thought  of  it  a  gust  of  jealous?^ 
swept  him. 

He  ate  his  dinner  scarcely  conscious  of  the  jolly 
tumult  around  him,  and  presently  went  upstairs  to  fiis 
rooms  to  rummage  in  one  of  his  trunks  for  a  costume- — 
souvenir  of  some  ancient  Latin  Quarter  revelry — 
Closerie  des  Lilas  or  Quat'z  Arts,  perhaps. 

Under  his  door  had  been  thrust  an  envelope  contain- 
ing a  card  bearing  his  invitation,  and  Stephanie  had 
written  on  it :  "It  will  all  be  spoiled  if  you  are  not  there. 
Don't  forget  that  you'll  have  to  dress  as  a  god  of  sorts. 
All  other  costumes  are  barred." 

What  he  had  would  do  excellently.  His  costume  of 
a  blessed  companion  of  Mahomet  in  white,  green  and 
silver,  with  its  jeweled  scimitar,  its  close-fitted  body 
dress,  gorget,  and  light  silver  head-piece,  represented 
acceptably  the  ideal  garb  of  the  Lion  of  God  militant. 

Toward  eleven  o'clock,  regarding  himself  rather 
gloomily  in  the  mirror,  the  reflected  image  of  an  ex- 
ceedingly good-looking  Fourth  Caliph,  with  the  faint 
line  of  a  mustache  darkening  his  short  upper  lip  and 
the  green  gems  of  a  true  believer  glittering  on  casque 
and  girdle  and  hilt,  cheered  the  young  man  consider- 
ably. 

"If  I'm  not  a  god,"  he  thought,  "I'm  henchman  to 
one."  And  he  twisted  the  pale  green  turban  around  his 
helmet  and  sent  for  a  taxicab. 

The  streets  around  the  Garden  were  jammed. 
Mounted  and  foot-police  laboured  to  keep  back  the  cu- 

199 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


rious  crowds  and  to  direct  the  crush  of  arriving  vehicles 
laden  with  fantastic  figures  in  silks  and  jewels.  Ar- 
cades, portico,  and  the  broad  lobby  leading  to  the 
amphitheatre  were  thronged  with  animated  merrymak' 
ers  in  brilliant  costumes ;  and  Cleland  received  his  cab- 
call  number  from  the  uniformed  starter  and  joined  the 
glittering  stream  which  carried  him  resistlessly  with  it 
through  the  gates  and  presently  landed  him  somewhere 
in  a  seat,  set  amid  a  solidly  packed  tier  of  gaily-cos- 
tumed people. 

An  immense  sound  of  chatter  and  laughter  filled  the 
vast  place,  scarcely  subdued  by  the  magic  of  a  huge 
massed  orchestra. 

The  Garden  had  been  set  to  represent  Mount  Olym- 
pus ;  white  pigeons  were  flying  everywhere  amid  flowers 
and  foliage ;  the  backdrop  was  painted  like  a  blue  hori- 
zon full  of  rosy  clouds,  and  the  two  entrances  were 
divided  by  a  marble-edged  pool  in  which  white  swans 
sailed  unconcerned  and  big  scarlet  gold-fish  swam  in 
the  limpid  water  among  floating  blossoms. 

But  he  had  little  time  to  gaze  about  through  the 
lilac-haze  of  tobacco  smoke  hanging  like  an  JEgean  mist 
across  the  dancing  floor,  for  already  boy  trumpeters,  in 
white  tunics  and  crowned  with  roses,  were  sounding  the 
flourish  and  were  dragging  back  the  iris-hued  hangings 
at  either  entrance. 

The  opening  pageant  had  begun. 

From  the  right  entrance  came  the  Greek  gods  and 
heroes — Zeus  aloft  in  a  chariot,  shaking  his  brazen 
thunder  bolts ;  Athene  in  helmet  and  tunic,  clutching 
a  stuffed  owl ;  Astarte  very  obvious,  long-legged  and 
pretty;  Mars  with  drawn  sword  and  fiery  copper  ar- 
mour ;  Hermes  wearing  wings  on  temples  and  ankles  and 
skilfully  juggling  the  caduceus,  Aphrodite  most  cas- 

200 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ually  garbed  in  gauze,  perfectly  fashioned  by  her 
Maker  and  rather  too  visible  in  lovely  detail. 

Eros,  very  feminine  too,  lacked  sartorial  protection 
except  for  a  pair  of  wings  and  a  merciful  sash  from 
which  hung  quiver  and  bow.  In  fact,  it  was  becoming 
startlingly  apparent  that  the  artists  responsible  for  the 
Ball  of  All  the  Gods  scorned  to  conceal  or  mitigate 
the  classical  and  accepted  legends  concerning  them  and 
their  costumes — or  lack  of  costumes. 

Fauns,  dryads,  nymphs,  satyrs,  naiads,  bacchantes 
poured  out  from  the  right  entrance,  eddying  in  snowy 
whirlpools  around  the  chariots  of  the  Grecian  gods; 
and  the  influence  of  the  Russian  ballet  was  visible  in 
every  lithely  leaping  figure. 

Contemporaneously,  from  the  left  entrance,  emerged 
the  old  Norse  gods:  Odin,  shaggy  and  fully  armed; 
Loki,  all  a-glitter  with  dancing  flames ;  Baldin  the 
Beautiful,  smirking;  Fenris  the  Wolf;  Frija,  blond  and 
fiercely  beautiful — the  entire  Norse  galaxy  surrounded 
by  skin-clad  warriors  and  their  blond,  half-naked 
mates. 

The  two  processions,  moving  in  parallel  lines  along 
the  north  and  south  tiers  of  boxes,  were  overlapping 
and  passing  each  other  now,  led  in  a  winding  march  by 
trumpeters ;  and  all  the  while,  from  either  entrance  new 
bevies  of  gods  and  immortals  were  emerging — the  deities 
of  Ancient  Egypt  moving  stiffly  in  their  splendid 
panoply ;  the  gods  of  the  ancient  Western  World  led 
by  the  Holder  of  Heaven  and  Hiawatha,  and  followed 
by  the  Eight  Thunders  plumed  in  white  escorting  the 
Lake  Serpent — a  young  girl,  lithe  and  sinuous  as  a 
snake  and  glittering  from  head  to  foot,  with  the  serpent 
spot  on  her  forehead. 

Ancient  China,  in  bewildering  silks,  entered  like   a 

201 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


moving  garden  of  flowers ;  then  India  came  in  gemmed 
magnificence  led  by  the  divine  son  of  Suddhodana. 

He  bore  the  bow  of  black  steel  with  gold  tendrils — 
the  Bow  of  Sinhahanu.  He  was  dressed  as  the  Prince 
Siddhartha,  in  the  garb  of  a  warrior  of  Oudh.  Bow 
and  sabre  betrayed  the  period — the  epoch  of  his 
trial  against  all  comers  to  win  the  Sakya  girl  Yasod- 
hara. 

As  he  passed,  Cleland,  leaning  forward,  scanned  the 
splendid  and  militant  figure  intently;  and  recognized 
Oswald  Grismer  under  the  glimmering  dress  of  the 
young  Buddha  militant. 

To  left  and  right  of  the  youthful  god  advanced  two 
girls,  all  in  relieved  stiff  gold  from  the  soles  of  their 
up-turned  sandals  to  the  fantastic  pagoda  peak  of  their 
head-dresses. 

They  wore  golden  Burmese  masks ;  their  bodies  to 
the  girdles  were  covered  with  open-work  golden  filigree ; 
from  the  fantastic  pagoda-like  shoulder-pieces  gold 
gauze  swept  away  like  the  folded  golden  wings  of 
dragon-flies ;  golden  bangles  and  bells  tinkled  on  wrist 
and  ankle. 

With  slim  hands  uplifted  like  the  gilded  idols  they 
represented,  the  open  eye  painted  in  the  middle  of  each 
palm  became  visible.  Around  them  swirled  a  dazzling 
throng  of  Nautch  girls. 

Suddenly  they  flung  up  their  arms:  the  stiff  gold 
masks  and  body-encasements  cracked  like  gilded 
mummy  cases  and  fell  down  clashing  around  their  naked 
feet,  and  from  the  cold,  glittering  chrysalids  stepped 
out  two  warm,  living,  cnchantingly  youthful  figures, 
lithe  and  supple,  saluting  the  Prince  Siddhartha  with 
bare  arms  crossed  above  their  breasts. 

To  one,  representing  his  mother,  Maya,  he  turned, 

202 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


laying  the  emblems  of  temporal  power  at  her  feet.  And, 
in  her,  Cleland  recognized  Helen  Davis. 

But  his  eyes  were  for  the  other — the  Sakya  girl 
Yasodhara  in  gold  sari  and  chuddah,  her  body  clasped 
with  a  belt  of  emeralds  and  a  girdle  of  the  same  gems 
tied  below  her  breasts. 

The  young  Lord  Buddha  laid  the  living  Rose  of  the 
World  in  her  hands.  She  bent  her  head  and  drew  it 
through  her  breast-girdle.  Then,  silk-soft,  exquisite, 
the  Sakya  maid  lifted  her  satin-lidded  eyes,  sweeping 
the  massed  audience  above  as  though  seeking  some  one. 
And  Cleland  saw  that  her  eyes  were  lilac-grey ;  and 
that  the  girl  was  Stephanie. 

Suddenly  the  massed  orchestras  burst  into  an  ana- 
chronistic two-step.  The  illusion  was  shattered;  the 
ball  was  on!  Assistants  ran  up  and  gathered  together 
the  glittering  debris  and  pushed  chariot,  papier  mache 
elephant  and  camel  and  palanquin  through  the  two  en- 
trances ;  god  seized  goddess,  heroes  nabbed  nymphs ;  all 
Olympus  and  the  outlying  suburban  heavens  began  to 
foot  it  madly  to  the  magic  summons  of  George  Cohan. 

Under  the  blaze  of  lights  the  throng  on  the  dancing 
floor  swirled  into  glittering  whirlpools  and  ripples,  bril- 
liant as  sunset  on  a  restless  sea.  The  gaily  costumed 
audience,  too,  was  rising  everywhere  and  leaving  seats 
and  stalls  and  boxes  to  join  the  dancing  multitudes 
below. 

Before  he  descended,  Cleland  saw  Grismer  and 
Stephanie  dancing  together,  the  girl  looking  up  over 
her  shoulder  as  though  still  searching  the  tiers  of  seats 
above  for  somebody  expected. 

Before  he  reached  the  floor  he  began  to  meet  old 
friends  and  acquaintances,  more  or  less  recognizable 
under  strange  head-dresses  and  in  stranger  raiment. 

203 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


He  ran  into  Badger  Spink,  as  a  fawn  in  the  spotted 
skin  of  a  pard,  his  thick  hair  on  end  and  two  Ittle  horns 
projecting. 

"Hello,"  he  said  briefly ;  "you  back  ?  Glad  to  see 
you — excuse  me,  but  I'm  chasing  a  little  devil  of  a 
dryad " 

He  caught  sight  of  her  as  he  spoke ;  the  girl  shrieked 
and  fled  and  after  her  galloped  the  fawn,  intent  on  cap- 
ture. 

Clarence  Verne,  colourless  of  skin  in  his  sombrely 
magnificent  Egyptian  dress,  extended  an  Egyptian 
hand  to  him — the  hand  he  remembered  so  well,  with  its 
deep,  pictographic  cleft  between  forefinger  and  thumb. 

"When  did  you  come  back,  Cleland?"  he  inquired  in 
that  listless,  drugged  voice  of  his.  "To-day?  Hope 
we'll  see  something  of  you  now.  .  .  .  Do  you  know 
that  Nautch  girl — the  one  in  orange  and  silver?  She's 
Claudia  Gwynn,  the  actress.  She  hasn't  got  much  on, 
has  she?  Can  the  Ball  des  Quat'z  beat  this  for  an  un- 
concerned revelation  of  form  divine?" 

"I  don't  think  it  can,"  said  Cleland,  looking  at  a 
bacchante  whose  raiment  seemed  to  be  voluminous 
enough.  The  only  trouble  was  that  it  was  also  trans- 
parent. 

"Nobody  cares  any  more,"  remarked  Verne  in  his 
drowsy  voice.  "The  restless  sex  has  had  its  way.  It 
always  has  been  mad  to  shed  its  clothes  in  public. 
First  it  danced  barefooted,  then  it  capered  barelegged. 
Loie,  Isadora  and  Ruth  St.  Denis  between  'em  started 
the  fashion ;  Bakst  went  'em  one  better ;  then  society 
tore  off  its  shoulder-straps  and  shortened  its  petti- 
coats ;  and  the  Australian  swimming  Venus  stripped 
for  the  screen.  It's  all  right :  I  don't  care.  Only  it's; 
a  bore  to  have  one's  imagination  become  atrophied  from 

204 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


disuse.  ...  If  I  can  find  a  girl  thoroughly  covered 
I'd  be  interested." 

He  sauntered  away  to  search,  and  Cleland  edged 
around  the  shore  of  the  dancing  floor,  where  the  flot- 
sam from  the  glittering  maelstrom  in  the  centre  had 
been  cast  up. 

Threading  his  way  amid  god  and  goddess,  nymph 
and  hero,  he  met  and  recognized  Philip  Grayson,  one  of 
his  youthful  masters  at  school — a  tall,  handsome  figure 
in  Greek  armour. 

"This  is  nice,  Cleland,"  he  said  cordially.  "Didn't 
know  you  were  back.  Quite  a  number  of  your  old 
school  fellows  here!" 

"Who?" 

"Oswald  Grismer " 

"I  saw  him." 

"Did  you  run  across  Harry  Belter?" 

'•No,"  exclaimed  Cleland,  "is  he  here?" 

"Very  much  so.  Harry  is  always  in  the  thick  of 
things  artistic.  How  goes  literature  with  you?" 

"I  came  back  to  start  things,"  said  Cleland.  "How 
does  it  pan  out  with  you?" 

"Well,"  said  Grayson,  "I  write  things  that  are  taken 
by  what  people  call  the  'better  class'  magazines.  It 
doesn't  seem  to  advance  me  much." 

"Cheer  up.  Try  a  human  magazine  and  become  a 
best  seller,"  said  Cleland,  laughing. 

And  he  continued  his  search  for  Stephanie. 

There  was  a  crush  on  the  floor — too  many  dancing 
in  the  beginning — and  all  he  could  do  was  to  prowl 
along  the  side  lines.  In  a  lower-tier  box  he  noticed  a 
fat  youth,  easily  recognizable  as  Bacchus.  His  wreath 
of  wax  grapes  he  wore  rakishly  over  one  eye;  he  sat 
at  a  table  with  several  thirsty  dryads  and  bestowed  im- 

205 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


partial  caresses  and  champagne.    Occasionally  he  burst 
into  throaty  song  in  praise  of  the  grape. 

"Harry  Belter!"  cried  Cleland. 

"Hey !  Who  ?"  demanded  Bacchus,  leaning  over  the 
edge  of  the  box,  his  glass  suspended.  "No !  It  isn't 
Jim  Cleland!  I  won't  believe  it!  It's  only  a  yearned- 
for  vision  come  to  plague  and  torment  me  in  my  old 

age !"     He  got  up,  leaned  over  and  seized  Cleland 

by  his  silken  sabre-belt: 

"Jim !  It  is  you !  To  my  arms,  old  scout —  — !" 
embracing  him  vociferously.  "Welcome,  dear  argo- 
naut !  Ladies !  Prepare  to  blush  and  tremble  with 
pleasurable  emotion !"  he  cried,  turning  to  his  attend- 
ant dryads.  "This  is  my  alter  ego,  James  Cleland — 
my  beloved  comrade  in  villainy — my  incomparable 
breaker  of  feminine  hearts !  You  all  shall  adore  him. 
You  shall  dote  upon  him.  Ready !  Attention !  Dote !" 

"I'm  doting  like  mad,"  said  a  bright-eyed  dryad, 
looking  down  invitingly  at  the  handsome  young  fellow. 
"Only  if  he's  a  Turk  I  simply  won't  stand  for  a  harem !" 

"In  the  Prophet's  Paradise,"  said  Cleland,  laughing, 
"there's  no  marriage  or  giving  in  marriage.  Will  you 
take  a  chance,  pretty  dryad?  All  the  girls  are  on  an 
equal  footing  in  the  Paradise  of  Mahomet,  and  we 
Caliphs  just  saunter  from  houri  to  houri  and  tell  each 
that  she's  the  only  one!" 

"Saunter  this  way,  please,"  cried  another  youthful 
dry  ad,  adjusting  the  wreath  of  water-lilies  so  that  she 
could  more  effectively  use  her  big  dark  eyes  on  him. 

Belter  whispered: 

"They're  from  the  new  show — 'Can  You  Beat  It!' — 
[just  opened  to  record  business.  Better  pick  one  while 
the  picking's  good.  Come  on  up !" 

But  Cleland  merely  lingered  to  pay  his  compliments 

206 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


a  few  moments  longer,  then,  declining  to  enter  the  box 
and  join  Belter  in  vocal  praise  of  the  grape,  and  elud- 
ing that  gentleman's  fond  clutch,  he  dodged  and  slipped 
away  to  continue  his  quest  of  the  silken,  slender  Sakya 
girl  somewhere  engulfed  amid  all  this  glitter,  surging, 
beating  noisily  around  him. 

Frequently,  as  he  made  his  devious  way  forward,  men 
and  women  of  the  more  fashionable  and  philistine  world 
recognized  and  greeted  him;  he  was  constantly  stop- 
ping to  speak  to  acquaintances  of  what  used  to  be  the 
saner  sets,  renew  helf-forgotten  friendships,  exchange 
lively  compliments  and  gay  civilities. 

But  he  failed  to  detect  any  vast  and  radical  difference 
between  the  world  and  the  three-quarter  world.  The 
area  in  square  inches  of  bare  skin  displayed  by  a 
young  matron  of  his  own  sort  matched  the  satin  naked- 
ness of  some  animated  ornament  from  the  Follies. 

As  he  stood  surveying  the  gorgeous  throng  he 
seemed  to  be  subtlely  aware  of  a  tension,  an  occult 
strain  keying  to  the  breaking  point  each  eager,  laugh- 
ing woman  he  looked  at.  The  scented  atmosphere  was 
heavy  with  it ;  the  rushing  outpour  of  the  violins  was 
charged  with  it ;  it  was  something  more  than  temporary 
excitement,  more  than  the  reckless  gaiety  of  the  mo- 
ment ;  it  was  something  that  had  become  part  of  these 
women — a  vast,  deep-bitten  restlessness  possessing 
them  soul  and  body. 

The  aspiring  quest  for  the  hitherto  unattainable, 
the  headlong  hunt  for  happiness,  these  were  human  and 
definite  and  to  be  comprehended ;  but  this  immense,  aim- 
less, objectless  restlessness,  mental  or  spiritual,  which- 
ever it  might  be,  seemed  totally  different. 

It  was  like  a  blind,  crab-like,  purposeless,  sidling 
migration  in  mass  of  the  prehistoric  female  race — be- 

207 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


fore  it  had  created  the  male  for  its  convenience — wan- 
dering out  into  and  over-running  the  primeval  wastes 
of  the  world,  swarming,  crawling  at  random — not  con- 
scious of  what  it  desired,  not  knowing  what  it  might 
be  seeking,  aware  only  of  the  imperative  urge  within 
it  which  set  it  in  universal  motion.  Only  to  weary, 
after  a  few  million  years  of  subdivision  and  self-ferti- 
lization, and  casually  extemporize  the  sterner  sex.  And 
settle  again  into  primeval  lethargy  and  the  somnolent 
inertia  of  automatic  reproduction. 

Watching  the  golden  human  butterflies  whirling 
around  him  swept  into  eddies  by  thunderous  gusts  of 
music,  he  thought,  involuntarily  of  those  filmy  winged 
creatures  that  dance  madly  in  millions  and  millions 
over  northern  rivers  and  are  swept  in  sparkling  clouds 
amid  the  rainbow  spray  of  cataracts  out  into  the  even- 
ing splendour  of  annihilation. 

He  met  a  pretty  woman  he  knew — had  thought  that 
he  had  known  once — and  reddened  slightly  at  the  au- 
dacity of  her  Grecian  raiment.  Her  husband — a  Har- 
vard man  he  had  known — was  with  her,  in  eye-glasses 
and  a  Grecian  helmet — Ajax  the  Greater,  he  explained. 

They  lingered  to  exchange  a  word;  she  beat  time  to 
the  music  with  sandalled  foot,  a  feverish  brilliancy  in. 
eyes  and  cheeks. 

"The  whole  world,"  said  Cleland,  "seems  strung  too 
tightly.  I  noticed  it  abroad,  too.  There's  a  tension 
that's  bound  to  break;  the  skies  of  the  whole  earth  are 
full  of  lightning.  Something  is  going  to  blow  up." 

"Hope  it  won't  be  the  stock  market,"  said  the  man. 
"I  don't  get  you,  Cleland — you  always  were  literary." 

"He  means  war,"  said  his  wife,  restlessly  fanning  her 
flushed  cheeks.  "Or  suffrage.  Which  do  you  mean,  Mrt 
Cleland?" 

208 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"You've  got  all  you  want — practically — haven't 
you?"  he  asked. 

"Practically.  It's  a  matter  of  a  year  or  so — the 
vote." 

"What  will  you  do  next?"  he  inquired,  smiling. 

"Heaven  knows,  but  we've  simply  got  to  keep  doing 
something,"  she  said.  "What  a  ghastly  bore  to  attain 
everything!  If  you  men  really  love  us,  for  goodness' 
sake  keep  on  tyrannizing  over  us  and  giving  us  some- 
thing to  fight  for !" 

She  laughed  and  blew  him  a  kiss  as  her  husband  en- 
circled her  Grecian  waist  and  steered  her  out  into  the 
fox-trotting  throng,  her  flimsy  draperies  fluttering  like 
the  wind-blown  tunic  of  a  Tanagra  dancing  figure. 

The  stamp  and  jingling  din  of  Nautch  girls  rang  in 
his  ears  as  he  turned  away  and  looked  out  over  the 
shifting  crowd. 

Everywhere  he  recognized  people  he  had  met  or  heard 
about,  men  eminent  or  notorious  in  their  vocations, 
actors,  painters,  writers,  architects,  musicians — men 
of  science,  lawyers,  promoters,  officers  of  industry  com- 
missioned and  non-commissioned,  the  gayer  element  of 
the  stage  were  radiantly  in  evidence,  usually  in  the 
dancing  embrace  of  Broad  and  Wall  Streets ;  artistic 
masculine  worth  and  youth  pranced  proudly  with  femi- 
ninity of  social  attainment ;  the  beautiful  unplaced  were 
there  in  daring  deshabille,  captivating  solid  domestic 
character  which  had  come  there  wifeless  and  receptive. 

Suddenly  he  saw  Stephanie.  She  was  leaning  back 
against  the  side  of  the  arena,  besieged  by  a  ring  of 
men.  Gales  of  laughter  swept  her  brilliant  entourage 
of  gods  and  demons,  fauns  and  heroes,  all  crowding 
about  to  pay  their  eager  court.  And  Stephanie,  laugh- 
ing back  at  them  from  the  centre  of  the  three-fold  cir- 

209 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


cle,  her  arms  crossed  behind  her,  stood  leaning  against 
the  side  of  the  amphitheatre  under  a  steady  rain  of 
rose  petals  dropped  on  her  by  some  young  fellows  in 
the  box  above  her. 

Through  this  rosy  rain,  through  the  three-fold  ring 
of  glittering  gods,  she  caught  sight  of  Cleland — met 
his  gaze  with  a  soft,  quick  cry  of  delight. 

Out  through  the  circle  of  chagrined  Olympians  she 
sprang  on  sandalled  feet,  not  noticing  these  protesting 
suitors ;  and  with  both  lovely,  rounded  arms  out- 
stretched, her  jewelled  hands  fell  into  Cleland's,  clasp- 
ing them  tightly  in  an  ecstacy  of  possession. 

"I  couldn't  find  you,"  she  explained  breathlessly.  "I 
was  so  dreadfully  afraid  you  hadn't  come !  Isn't  it  all 
magnificent !  Isn't  it  wonderful !  Did  you  see  the 
pageant?  Did  you  ever  see  anything  as  splendid? 
Slip  your  arm  around  me ;  we  can  walk  better  together 
in  this  crush "  passing  her  own  bare  arm  confi- 
dently over  his  shoulder  and  falling  into  step  with 
him. 

"I  saw  you  in  the  pageant,"  he  said,  encircling  with 
his  arm  the  silken  body-vestment  of  her  slender  waist. 

"Did  you?  Did  you  see  Helen  and  me  come  out  of 
our  golden  chrysalids?  Was  it  pretty?" 

"Charming  and  unexpected.  You  are  quite  the  most 
beautiful  thing  on  the  floor  to-night." 

"Really,  Jim,  do  you  think  so?  You  darling  boy, 
to  say  it!  I'm  having  a  wonderful  time.  How  hand- 
some you  are  in  your  dress  of  a  young  oriental  war- 
rior !" 

"I'm  the  fourth  Caliph,  Ali,"  he  explained.  "I  had 
this  costume  made  in  Paris." 

"It's  bewitching,  Jim.  You  are  good  looking! — you 
adorable  brother  of  mine.  Do  you  like  my  paste  em- 

210 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


eralds?  You  don't  think  I'm  too  scantily  clad,  do 
you?" 

"That  seems  to  be  the  general  fashion " 

"Oh,  Jim!  There  are  lots  of  others  much  more  un- 
dressed. Besides,  one  simply  has  to  be  historical  and 
accurate  or  one  is  taken  for  an  ignoramus.  If  I'm  to 
to  impersonate  the  Sakya  girl,  Yassodhara,  before  she 
became  Lord  Buddha's  wife,  I  must  wear  what  she 
probably  wore.  Don't  you  see?" 

"Perfectly,"  he  said,  laughing.  "But  you  of  the 
artistic  and  unconventional  guilds  ought  to  leave  the 
audacious  costumes  to  your  models.  But,  of  course, 
that's  too  much  to  ask  of  you." 

"Indeed  it  is !"  she  said  gaily.  "If  some  of  us  think 
we're  rather  nicely  made  why  shouldn't  we  dare  a 
little  artistically — in  the  name  of  beauty  and  of 
art?  .  .  .  Oh,  Jim! — it's  the  tango  they're  beginning. 
Will  you !— with  me?" 

They  danced  the  exquisitely  graceful  measure  to- 
gether, her  little  golden-sandalled  feet  flashing  noise- 
lessly through  the  intricate  steps,  lingering,  swaying, 
gliding  faultlessly  in  unison  with  his  as  though  part 
of  his  own  body. 

The  fascinating  rhythm  of  the  Argentine  music 
throbbed  through  the  perfumed  air;  a  bright,  whis- 
pering wilderness  of  silk  and  jewels  swayed  rustling  all 
around  them;  bare  arms  and  shoulders,  brilliant  lips 
and  eyes  floated  through  their  line  of  dreary  vision ; 
figures  like  phantoms  passed  in  an  endless  rosy  chain 
through  the  lustrous  haze  of  motion. 

They  danced  together  whatever  came;  Stephanie, 
like  a  child  fearful  of  being  abandoned,  kept  one  slim 
jewelled  hand  fast  hold  of  his  sleeve  or  girdle  when 
they  were  not  dancing.  To  one  and  all  who  came  to 

211 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


argue  or  present  fancied  prior  claims  she  turned  a  deaf 
ear  and  laughing  lips,  listening  to  no  pleading,  no 
claims. 

She  threatened  Harry  Belter  with  the  flat  of  her 
palm,  warning  him  indignantly  when  he  attempted  a 
two-step,  by  violence ;  she  closed  her  ears  to  Badger 
Spink,  who  danced  with  rage  in  his  goat-skins;  she 
waved  away  Verne  in  all  his  Egyptian  splendour;  she 
let  her  grey  eyes  rest  in  an  insolent  stare  at  two  of 
Belter's  dryads  who  encircled  Cleland's  waist  with 
avowed  intent  to  make  him  their  prisoner  and  dedicate 
him  to  vocal  praise  of  the  vine. 

Then  there  was  a  faint  clash  and  flash  of  iri- 
descence, and  the  Prince  Siddhartha  confronted  her, 
golden-eyed,  golden-skinned,  golden-haired,  magnificent 
in  his  golden  vestments. 

"Oswald!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  I  am  glad.  Jim!  You 
and  Oswald  will  be  friends,  won't  you?  You're  such 
dears — you  simply  must  like  each  other!" 

They  shook  hands,  looking  with  curious  intentness 
at  each  other. 

"I've  always  liked  you,  Cleland,"  said  Grismer  grace- 
fully. "I  don't  think  you  ever  cared  for  me  very  much, 
but  I  wish  you  might." 

"I  have  found  you — agreeable,  Grismer.  We  were 
friendly  at  school  and  college  together " 

"I  hope  our  friendliness  may  continue." 

"I— hope  so." 

Grismer  smiled: 

"Drop  in  whenever  you  care  to,  Cleland,  and  talk 
things  over.  We've  a  lot  to  say  to  each  other,  I 
think." 

"Thanks."  ...  He  looked  hard  at  Grismer.  "All 
right;  I'll  do  it." 

212 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Grismer  nodded: 

"I've  a  kennel  of  sorts  in  Bleecker  Street.  But  you 
might  be  interested  in  one  or  two  things  I'm  working 
on.  You  see,"  he  added  with  careless  good  humour, 
"I'm-  obliged  to  work,  now." 

Cleland  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"I'm  sorry  things  went  wrong  with  you." 

"Oh,  they  didn't.  It  was  quite  all  right,  Cleland. 
I  really  don't  mind.  Will  you  really  drop  in  some  day 
soon?" 

"Yes." 

Dancing  began  again.  Grismer  stepped  back  with 
the  easy,  graceful  courtesy  that  became  him,  conced- 
ing Stephanie  to  Cleland  as  a  ^  matter  of  course;  and 
the  latter,  who  had  been  ready  to  claim  her,  found 
himself  disarmed  in  advance. 

"Is  it  Grismer's  dance,  Steve?"  he  asked. 

"I  promised  him.  But,  Jim,  I'm  afraid  to  let  you 
go-  -" 

They  all  laughed,  and  she  added: 

"When  a  girl  gets  a  man  back  after  three  long  years, 
is  it  astonishing  that  she  keeps  tight  hold  of  him?" 

"You'd  better  dance  with  her,  Cleland,"  said  Gris- 
mer, smiling. 

But  Cleland  could  not  accept  a  gift  from  this  man, 
and  he  surrendered  her  with  sufficient  grace. 

"Jim !"  she  said  frankly.  "'You're  not  going  after 
that  dryad,  are  you?  She's  exceedingly  common  and 
quite  shamelessly  under-dressed.  Shall  I  introduce 
you  to  a  nice  girl — or  do  you  know  a  sufficient  num- 
ber?" 

"You  know,"  he  said,  laughing,  "that  I  ought  to 
play  my  part  of  Fourth  Caliph  and  go  and  capture  a 
pretty  widow " 

213 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"What!" 

"Certainly,"  he  said  tranquilly;  "didn't  Ali  take 
prisoner  Ayesha,  the  youthful  widow  of  Mohammed? 
I'll  look  about  while  you're  dancing " 

"I  don't  wish  you  to !"  she  exclaimed,  half  vexed,  half 
laughing.  "Oswald,  does  he  mean  it?" 

"He  looks  as  though  he  does,"  replied  Grismer, 
amused.  "There's  a  Goddess  of  Night  over  there, 
Cleland — very  pretty  and  very  unconcealed  under  a 
cloud  of  spangled  stars " 

"Oswald !  I  don't  wish  him  to  !  Jim !  Listen  to  me, 

please !"  for  he  had  already  started  toward  the 

little  brunette  Goddess  of  Night.  "We  have  box  seven ! 
Please  remember.  I  shall  wait  for  you !" 

"Right !"  he  nodded,  now  intently  bent,  on  displeas- 
ing her ;  a  little  excited,  too,  by  her  solicitude,  yet  sul- 
lenly understanding  that  it  sprang  from  no  deeper 
emotion  than  her  youthful  heart  had  yet  betrayed  for 
him.  No  woman  ever  let  a  man  go  willingly,  whether 
kin  or  lover — whether  she  had  use  for  him  or  not. 

Stephanie,  managing  to  keep  him  in  view  among  the 
dancers,  saw  the  little  Goddess  of  Night,  with  her  im- 
pudent up-tilted  nose,  floating  amid  her  scandalously 
diaphanous  draperies  in  his  arms  through  a  dreamy 
tango,  farther  and  farther  away  from  her. 

Things  went  wrong  with  her,  too;  she  dropped  her 
emerald  girdle  and  several  of  the  paste  stones  rolled 
away ;  the  silk  of  her  body-vest  ripped,  revealing  the 
snowy  skin,  and  she  had  to  knot  her  gold  sari  higher. 
Then  the  jewelled  thong  of  her  left  sandal  snapped  and 
she  lost  it  for  a  moment. 

"The  devil!"  she  said,  slipping  her  bare  foot  into 
it  and  half  skating  toward  the  nearest  lower-tier  box. 

"There  he  is  over  there,"  remarked  Grismer,  indi- 

214 


eating  a  regulation  Mephistophles,  wearing  a  blood- 
red  jerkin  laced  with  a  wealth  of  superfluous  points. 
''Wait ;  I'll  borrow  a  lace  of  him." 

The  devil  was  polite  and  had  no  objection  to  being 
despoiled ;  and  Grismer  came  back  with  a  chamois  thong 
and  mended  her  sandal  for  her  while  she  sat  in  their 
box  and  watched  the  tumult  surging  below. 

He  chatted  gaily  with  her  for  a  while,  leaning  there 
on  the  box's  edge  beside  her,  but  Stephanie  had  become 
smilingly  inattentive  and  preoccupied,  and  he  watched 
her  in  silence,  now,  curiously,  a  little  perplexed  by  her 
preoccupation.  For  it  was  most  unusual  for  her  to 
betray  inattention  when  with  him.  It  was  not  like  her. 
He  could  not  remember  her  ever  being  visibly  uninter- 
ested in  him — ever  displaying  preoccupation  or  indif- 
ference when  in  his  company. 

However,  the  excitement  of  seeing  her  brother  again 
so  unexpectedly  accounted  for  it  no  doubt. 

The  excitement  and  pleasure  of  seeing  her — 
brother!  ...  A  slight  consciousness  of  the  fact  that 
there  was  no  actual  kinship  between  this  girl  and 
Cleland  passed  through  his  mind  without  disturbing  his 
tranquillity.  He  merely  happened  to  think  of  it.  ... 
He  happened  to  recollect  it ;  that  was  all. 

"Stephanie?" 

"Yes." 

"Shall  we  sit  out  this  dance?  Your  sandal  string 
will  hold." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "Who  is  that  dancing 
with  Helen?  Over  there  to  the  left " 

"I  see  her.  I  don't  know — oh,  yes — it's  Phil  Gray- 
son." 

"Is  it?  I  wonder  where  Jim  went  with  that  woman! 
.  .  .  I'm  horribly  thirsty,  Oswald." 

215 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Shall  we  have  some  supper?" 

"Where  is  it  ?  Oh,  down  there !  What  a  stuffy 
place!  It's  too  awful.  Couldn't  you  get  something 
here?" 

He  managed  to  bribe  one  perspiring  and  distracted 
waiter,  and  after  a  long  while  he  brought  a  tray  tower- 
ing with  salads,  ices  and  bottles. 

Helen  and  Philip  Grayson  came  back  and  the  former 
immediately  revealed  a  healthy  appetite. 

"Don't  you  want  anything  to  eat,  Steve?"  she  in- 
quired. "This  shrimp  salad  isn't  bad." 

"I'm  not  hungry." 

"You  seem  to  be  thirsty,"  remarked  Helen,  looking 
at  the  girl's  flushed  face  and  her  half-filled  wine  glass. 
"Where  is  Jim?" 

"Dancing." 

"With  whom?" 

"Some  girl  of  sorts  whom  he  picked  up,"  said 
Stephanie;  and  the  pink  flush  in  her  face  deepened 
angrily. 

"Was  she  worth  it?"  inquired  Helen,  frankly 
amused. 

Stephanie's  cheeks  cooled;  she  replied  carelessly: 

"She  had  button  eyes  and  a  snub  nose  and  her  attire 
was  transparent — if  that  interests  you."  She  rested 
her  elbow  on  the  edge  of  the  box,  supporting  her  chin 
on  her  cupped  palm. 

They  were  dancing  again.  Grayson  came  and  took 
out  Helen;  a  number  of  men  arrived  clamouring  for 
Stephanie.  She  finally  went  out  with  Verne,  but  not 
liking  the  way  he  held  her  left  him  planted  and  returned 
to  the  box  where  a  number  of  hilarious  young  men  had 
gathered. 

Harry  Belter  said: 

216 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"What's  the  trouble,  Steve?  I  never  saw  you  glum 
before  in  all  my  life!" 

"I'm  not  glum,"  she  said  with  a  forced  little  laugh, 
"I'm  thirsty,  Senior  Bacchus !  Isn't  that  enough  to 
sadden  any  girl?" 

Later  Helen,  returning  from  the  floor,  paused  beside 
Stephanie  to  bend  over  her  and  whisper: 

"Harry  Belter  is  behaving  like  a  fool.  Don't  take 
anything  more,  Steve." 

The  girl  lifted  her  flushed  face  and  laughed: 

"I  feel  like  flinging  discretion  into  the  'fire  of 
spring,'  "  she  said.  "That's  where  most  of  these  peo- 
ple's clothing  has  disappeared,  I  fancy."  Excitement 
burned  in  her  pink  cheeks  and  wide  grey  eyes,  and  she 
stood  up  in  the  box  looking  about  her,  poised  lightly 
as  some  slim  winged  thing  on  the  verge  of  taking 
flight. 

Grismer  rose  too  and  whispered  to  her,  but  she  made 
a  slight,  impatient  movement  with  her  shoulders. 

"Won't  you  dance  this  with  me  ?"  he  repeated,  touch- 
ing her  arm. 

"No,"  she  said  under  her  breath.  "You  annoy  me, 
Oswald." 

"What!" 

"Please  don't  be  quite  so  devoted.  .  .  .  I'm  restless." 

She  turned  and  started  to  leave  the  box.  The  others 
were  leaving  too,  for  dancing  had  begun  again.  But 
at  the  steps  she  parted  with  the  jolly  little  company, 
they  descending  to  the  floor,  she  turning  to  mount  the 
steps  alone. 

"Where  on  earth  are  you  going,  Steve?"  called  back 
Helen,  halting  on  the  steps  below. 

"I  want  to  see  the  floor  from  the  top  gallery !"  re- 
plied Stephanie,  without  turning  her  head;  and  she 

217 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ran  lightly  upward,  her  bells  and  bangles  jingling. 
Half  way  up  she  turned  her  head.  She  had  not  been 
followed,  but  she  saw  Grismer  below  looking  up,  watch- 
ing her  flight.  And  she  made  no  sign  of  recognition, 
no  gay  gesture  of  amity  and  adieu ;  she  turned  her 
back  and  sped  upward  through  the  clamour  and  hazy 
brilliancy,  turned  into  the  first  corridor,  and  vanished 
like  a  firefly  in  a  misty  thicket. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AT  three  in  the  morning  the  Ball  of  the  Gods  was 
in  full  and  terrific  blast  and  still  gathering 
momentum.  A  vast  musical  uproar  filled  the 
Garden;  the  myriad  lights  glittered  like  jewels  through 
a  fog;  the  dancing  floor  was  a  bewildering,  turbulent 
whirlpool  of  colour. 

Few  if  any  of  the  dancers  had  reached  the  point  of 
satiation ;  a  number,  however,  had  attained  the  state  of 
saturation. 

As  far  as  Cleland  could  see  the  only  difference  be- 
tween this  and  a  more  miscellaneous  assemblage  seemed 
to  be  that  the  majority  of  people  here  knew  how  to 
ignore  unpleasant  lapses  in  others  and  how  to  efface 
themselves  if  surprised  into  accidental  indiscretion. 

With  Lady  Button-eyes  on  his  arm  he  had  threaded 
his  way  into  the  supper-room,  where  the  gods,  demi- 
gods and  heroes  were  banqueting  most  riotously. 

It  was  becoming  very  rapidly  a  dubiously  mixed 
affair ;  Bacchus,  with  his  noisy  crew,  invaded  the  sup- 
per-room and  pronounced  Cleland's  snub-nosed,  but- 
ton-eyed goddess  "tray  chick,"  and  there  arose  immedi- 
ately a  terrific  tumult  around  her — gods  and  satyrs 
doing  battle  for  her ;  but  she  persisted  in  her  capricious 
fancy  for  Cleland.  He,  however,  remained  in  two 
minds ;  one  was  to  abandon  Button-eyes,  retire  and  find 
Stephanie  again,  in  spite  of  the  ever-smoldering  resent- 
ment he  felt  for  Grismer ;  the  other  was  to  teach  him- 

219 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


self  without  loss  of  time  to  keep  away  from  her ;  school 
himself  to  do  without  her :  preoccupy  himself  casually 
and  recklessly  with  anything  that  might  aid  in  oblit- 
erating his  desire  for  her  companionship — with  this 
snub-nosed  one,  for  example. 

The  desire  to  see  Stephanie  remained,  nevertheless, 
sometimes  fiercely  importunate,  sometimes  sullenly  per- 
sistent— seemingly  out  of  all  proportion  to  any  senti- 
ment he  had  ever  admittedly  entertained  for  her — out 
of  proportion,  also,  to  his  sulky  resentment  at  the  folly 
she  had  committed  with  Oswald  Grismer. 

For,  after  all,  if  she  ultimately  married  Grismer  in 
the  orthodox  way  her  eccentric  pre-nuptial  behaviour 
was  nothing  more  serious  than  eccentric.  And  if  she 
didn't,  then  it  meant  annulment  or  divorce ;  and  he 
realised  that  nobody  outside  of  the  provinces  paid  any 
attention  to  such  episodes  nowadays.  And  nobody 
cared  what  clod-hoppers  thought  about  anything. 

His  button-eyed  goddess  had  a  pretty  good  soprano 
voice  and  she  was  using  it  now,  persuaded  into  a  duet 
by  Belter.  Cleland  looked  at  her  sideways  without 
enthusiasm,  undecided,  irritated  and  gloomy.  She  was 
Broadway  vulgarity  personified. 

Badger  Spink  dropped  onto  a.  chair  on  the  other 
side  of  him : 

"Who's  your  transparent  lady  ?riend?"  he  inquired 
lazily.  "She  looks  like  a  gutter-angel.  Who  is  the 
depraved  little  beast?" 

"I  don't  know — some  actress,  I  believe — Sonia  some- 
thing-or-other.  Do  you  want  her?" 

"Thanks.  What  does  she  represent?  A  Kewpie 
behind  a  pane  of  glass?" 

"She's  a  goddess  of  sorts,  I  believe.  This  is  getting 
rather  raw,  isn't  it,  Spink?" 

220 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Spink  yawned  and  gazed  leisurely  about  him,  the 
satyr's  horn  emerging  from  his  thick,  wavy  pompadour 
hair,  accentuating  his  clever,  saturnine  features.  His 
expression  was  slightly  Satanic  always. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "it's  turning  out  rather  rough. 
"What  do  you  think  of  this  sort  of  thing  in  New  York, 
Cleland?  We're  drifting  toward  Babylon.  That's  the 
trend  since  the  dance  craze  swept  this  moral  nation 
off  its  moral  feet  into  a  million  tango  joints." 

"There's  something  the  matter  with  us,  that's  sure," 
said  Cleland.  "This  sort  of  thing  doesn't  belong  in 
the  new  world." 

"It's  up  to  our  over-rated  American  women,"  sneered 
Spink.  "Only  a  few  years  ago  we  were  slobbering  over 
them,  worshipping  them,  painting  pictures  of  'em — 
pictures  influenced  by  the  French  naturalistic  school — 
a  lot  of  cow-faced  American  females  suckling  their 
young.  Everybody  was  yelling  for  the  simple  life, 
summoning  the  nation  back  to  nature,  demanding  that 
babies  be  produced  in  every  family  by  the  dozen,  ex- 
tolling procreation  and  lauding  the  American  woman. 
That's  the  sort  of  female  we  celebrated  and  pretended 
to  want.  Now,  look  what  we've  got! — a  nation  of 
dancing  dolls  !  A  herd  of  restless,  brainless,  aggressive, 
impudent  women  proclaiming  defiance  and  snapping 
their  fingers  at  us  ! 

"I  tell  you  there  burns  here  in  the  Garden  to-night 
something  more  than  the  irresponsible  gaiety  of  a  lot 
of  artists  and  Philistine  pleasure-seekers.  The  world 
is  on  the  verge  of  something  terrifying;  the  restless- 
ness of  a  universal  fever  is  in  its  veins.  Our  entire 
human  social  structure  is  throbbing  with  it;  every 
symptom  is  ominous  of  social  collapse  and  a  complete 
disintegration  of  the  old  order  of  civilization !" 

221 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"What's  your  other  name,  Spink? — Jeremiah?" 
asked  Cleland,  laughing. 

"No.  I'm  merely  on  my  favourite  topic.  Listen  to 
me,  my  young  friend;  all  England  faces  strikes  and 
political  anarchy  in  Ireland  and  India;  the  restless  sex 
is  demanding  its  rights  in  London  and  menacing  the 
Empire.  France,  betrayed  by  one  of  the  restless  ones, 
strangling  in  the  clutch  of  scandal,  is  standing  be- 
wildered by  the  roar  of  the  proletariat;  Russia  seethes 
internally,  watching  the  restless  Empress  and  her 
accursed  priest  out  of  millions  of  snaky,  Asiatic  eyes ; 
Portugal  has  just  fallen  crashing  into  fragments 
around  a  terrified  Queen ;  China  splits  open  from  end 
to  end  and  vomits  forth  its  dynast}'  on  the  tomb  of 
the  dead  Dowager;  Austria  watches  for  the  death  of 
an  old,  old  widower — an  Imperial  mummy  long  since 
dead  in  mind  and  spirit.  Germany,  who  uses  the  lesser 
sex  for  breeding  only,  stares  stolidly  out  of  pig-like 
eyes  at  the  Imperial  litter  of  degenerates  and  defectives 
dropped  with  stolid  regularity  to  keep  the  sty-supply 
of  Hohenzollerns  unimpaired.  Only  radicals  like  my- 
self feel  the  cataclysmic  waves  deep  under  the  earth, 
symptomatic,  ominous  of  profound  and  vital  readjust- 
ments already  under  way. 

"And  here  in  our  once  great  Republic  of  the  West, 
the  fever  of  universal  unrest  is  becoming  apparent  in 
this  nation-wide  movement  for  suffrage.  State  after 
state  becomes  a  battle-ground  and  surrenders ;  accepted 
standards  are  shattered,  the  old  social  order  and  bal- 
ance between  the  sexes — all  the  established  formalism 
and  belief  of  a  man-constructed  status — totters  as 
door  and  gate  and  avenue  and  byway  are  insanely 
flung  open  to  the  mindless  invasion  of  the  restless  sex! 
Don't  stop  me,  Cleland ;  I  am  magnificent  to-night. 

222 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Listen !  I  tell  you  that  political  equality,  equal  oppor- 
tunity, absolute  personal  liberty  are  practically  in 
sight  for  women!  What  more  is  left?  Conscious  of 
the  itching  urge  of  its  constitutional  inclination  to  fuss 
and  fidget,  the  restless  sex,  fundamentally  gallinaceous, 
continues  to  wander  on  into  bournes  beyond  its  ken, 
hen-like,  errant,  pensively  picking  at  the  transcenden- 
tally  unattainable,  but  always  in  motion — motion  as 
mechanical  and  meaningless  as  the  negative  essence  of 
cosmic  inertia !  .  .  .  Now,  I'm  through  with  you, 
Cleland.  Thanks  for  listening.  I  don't  think  I  want 
your  goddess,  after  all.  She  looks  too  much  like  a 
tip-up  snipe!" 

And  he  took  himself  off,  yawning. 

The  rushing  din  of  the  orchestra  far  below  came 
up  softened  to  Stephanie's  ears,  where  she  stood  at  the 
rail  of  the  topmost  gallery  and  looked  down  into  the 
glimmering  depths  of  the  Ball  of  all  the  Gods. 

Her  jewelled  fingers  rested  on  the  rail,  her  slender 
body  pressed  against  it;  she  stood  with  bent  head, 
gazing  down  into  the  vortex,  pensive,  sombrely  pre- 
occupied with  an  indefinable  anger  that  possessed 
her. 

The  corridor  behind  her  was  full  of  shadowy  figures 
scurrying  to  hazardous  rendezvous.  She  was  vaguely 
aware  of  encounters  and  pursuits ;  stifled  laughter, 
sudden  gusts  of  whispering,  hurried  adieux,  hasty  foot- 
falls and  the  ghostly  rustle  of  silks  in  flight. 

She  turned  restlessly  and  went  up  into  the  corridor. 
A  dryad  was  performing  flip-flaps  there  and  a  gale 
of  laughter  and  applause  arose  from  her  comrades 
watching  her  in  a  semi-circle. 

The  Olympians,  too,  all   seemed  to  have  gathered 

223 


there  for  a  frolic — Zeus,  Hermes,  the  long-legged 
Astarte,  the  amazingly  realistic  Aphrodite,  and  Eros, 
more  realistic  still — all  clasping  hands  and  dancing  a 
ring-around-a-rosy  while  Bacchus  and  Ariadne  in  the 
centre  performed  a  breakdown  which  drew  frantic 
shouts  of  approval  from  the  whirling  ring. 

Then,  in  this  hilarious  circle,  Stephanie  caught  sight 
of  the  snub-nose  and  transparent  raiment  of  the  button- 
eyed  Goddess  of  Night,  and  next  her,  hand  clasping 
hand,  she  recognized  Cleland  as  another  link  in  the 
rapidly  rotating  ring. 

Aphrodite  and  Eros,  hand  locked  in  hand,  were 
singing  the  song  they  had  made  so  popular  in  "The 
Prince  of  Argolis"  early  in  the  winter: 

"Mrs.  Aphrodite 
Gave  her  pretty  sonny 
Lots  of  golden  curls 
But  little  golden  money, 
Dressed  him  in  a  nightie! — 
(Listen  to  me,  girls!) 
Love  of  golden  curls 
Leads  the  world  astray! 
(Listen  to  me,  honey! ) 
Love  of  golden  money 
Acts  the  selfsame  way!"- 

Breathless  with  laughter  the  Grecian  gods  galloped 
round  and  round  in  a  dizzy  circle,  flushed  faces  flashed 
past  Stephanie,  flying  draperies  and  loosened  hair  flut- 
tered and  streamed  and  glimmered  in  confused  sequence 
before  her  angry  eyes. 

Suddenly  the  mad  dance  broke  up  and  flew  into 
fragments,  scattering  its  reeling,  panting  devotees 
into  prancing  couples  in  every  direction. 

And    straight    into    this    wild    confusion    stepped 

224 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Stephanie,  her  pretty  eyes  brilliant  with  wrath,  her 
face  a  trifle  pale. 

"Jim !" 

He  let  go  of  Lady  Button-eyes  in  astonishment  and 
turned  around. 

Stephanie  said  very  coolly: 

"If  you're  going  to  raise  the  devil,  raise  him  with 
me,  please!" 

Lady  Button-eyes  was  not  pleased  and  she  showed 
it  by  stamping,  which  alone  had  sufficiently  fixed  her 
level  if  she  had  not  also  placed  both  hands  on  her  hips 
and  laughed  scornfully  when  Cleland  took  leave  of  her 
and  walked  over  to  Stephanie. 

"Where  are  the  others?"  he  inquired,  rather  red  at 
being  discovered  with  such  a  crew.  "You're  not  alone, 
are  you,  Steve?" 

"Not  now,"  she  said  sweetly ;  and  passed  her  left 
arm  through  his  and  clasped  her  right  hand  over  it. 
"Now,"  she  said  with  an  excited  little  laugh,  "I  am 
ready  to  raise  the  devil  with  you.  Take  me  wherever 
you  like,  Jim." 

The  insulted  gods  gazed  upon  her  with  astonishment 
as  she  lifted  her  small  head  and  sent  an  indifferent 
glance  like  an  arrow  at  random  among  them.  Then, 
not  further  noticing  them,  and  absolutely  indifferent 
to  the  button-e}7ed  one,  she  strolled  leisurely  out  of 
Olympus  with  her  slightly  disconcerted  captive  and  dis- 
appeared from  their  view  along  the  southern  corridor. 

But  once  out  of  their  range  of  vision  her  hot  wrath 
returned. 

"It  was  abominable,"  she  said  in  a  low,  tense  voice, 
" — your  going  off  that  way,  when  I  told  you  the  whole 
evening  would  be  spoiled  for  me  without  you!  I  am 
hurt  and  angry,  Jim." 

?25 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


But  his  smouldering  wrath  also  flickered  into  flame 
now. 

"You  had  Grismer,  didn't  you!"  he  said.  "What 
do  you  care  whether  I  am  with  you  or  not?" 

"What  do  you  mean?  Yes,  of  course  I  had  him. 
What  has  that  to  do  with  you?" 

He  replied  with  light  insolence: 

"Nothing.     I'm  not  your  husband." 

His  words  fell  like  a  blow:  she  caught  her  breath 
with  the  hurt  of  them ;  then : 

"Is  that  why  you  have  avoided  me?"  she  demanded 
in  a  tone  of  such  concentrated  passion  that  the  unex- 
pected flare-up  startled  him.  It  surprised  her,  too ; 
for,  all  at  once,  in  her  heart  something  contracted 
agonizingly,  and  a  surge  of  furious  resentment  flooded 
her,  almost  strangling  speech. 

"Why  are  you  indifferent?  Why  are — are  you 
unkind?"  she  stammered.  "I've  just  found  you  again 
after  all  these  years,  haven't  I?  What  do  other  people 
matter  to  us?  Why  should  Oswald  interfere  between 
you  and  me?  You  and  I  haven't  had  each  other  for 
years!  I — I  can't  stand  it — to  have  you  unkind — 
indifferent — to  have  you  leave  me  this  way  when  I  want 
you — so  desperately " 

"I  didn't  leave  you,"  he  retorted  sullenly.  "You 
went  away  with — the  man  you  married " 

"Don't  speak  of  him  that  way!"  she  interrupted 
hotly.  "Nobody  speaks  of  that  affair  at  all !" 

"Why  not?     You  did  marry  him,  didn't  you?" 

"What  of  it !"  she  flamed  back.  "What  has  that  to 
do  with  you  and  me!  Why  do  you  refer  to  it?  It's 
my  personal  affair,  anyway !" 

He  turned  toward  her,  exasperated: 

"If  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  your  behaviour  with 

226 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Grismer  means  nothing  to  me,  you'd  better  undeceive 
yourself !  .  .  .  Or  I'll  do  it  for  you  in  a  way  you  can't 
mistake !" 

"Undeceive  me?"  she  repeated  uneasily.  "How  do 
you  mean?" 

"By  making  a  fight  for  you  myself,"  he  said,  "by 
doing  my  best  to  get  you  back!" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Jim,"  she  repeated, 
her  grey  eyes  intent  on  his  flushed  face.  .  .  .  "Do  you 
believe  you  have  been  insulted  by  what  I  did?  Is  that 
what  you  mean?" 

He  did  not  answer.  They  walked  on,  slowly  pacing 
the  deserted  corridor.  Her  head  was  lowered  now ; 
her  lips  a  trifle  tremulous. 

"I — didn't  suppose  you'd  take — what  I   did — that 
way,"  she  said  unsteadily.     "I — respect  and  love  you. 
...  I   supposed  I   was   at  liberty — to   dispose   of— 
myself.     I  didn't  imagine  you  cared-^-very  much — 

Suddenly  he  freed  his  arm  from  her  clasped  fingers 
and  passed  it  around  her  waist ;  and  she  caught  her 
breath  and  placed  her  hand  tightly  over  his  to  hold  it 
there. 

"You  adorable  boy,"  she  whispered,  "am  I  forgiven? 
And  you  do  care  for  me,  don't  you,  Jim?" 

"Care  for  you!"  he  repeated  in  a  low,  menac- 
ing voice.  "I  care  for  nobody  else  in  the  world, 
Steve!" 

She  laughed  happily,  yielding  confidently  to  his 
embrace,  responding  swiftly  and  adorably  and  with  a 
frank  unreserve  that  told  a  more  innocent  story 
than  his  close  caress  and  boyish  heart  on  fire  con- 
firmed. 

And,  for  the  moment^  she  let  him  have  his  way,  gaily 
enduring  and  humorously  content  with  a  reconciliation 

227 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


somewhat  exaggerated  and  oArer-demonstrative  on  his 
part. 

But  presently  his  lips  on  her  flushed  face,  on  her 
hair,  on  her  throat,  disconcerted  her,  and  her  own  lips 
parted  in  dismayed  and  laughing  protest  at  an  ardour 
entirely  new  to  her. 

He  merely  kissed  her  fragrant  mouth  into  silence, 
looking  steadily  into  her  grey  eyes  now  widening  with 
perplexed  and  troubled  inquiry. 

"I  love  you,"  he  said.  "I  want  you  back.  Now, 
do  you  understand,  Steve?  I  love  you!  I  love  you!" 

Confused,  crushed  hotly  in  his  embrace,  she  stared 
blankly  at  him  for  one  dizzy  instant;  then,  in  silence, 
she  twisted  her  supple  body  backward  and  aside,  and 
with  both  nervous  hands  broke  loose  the  circle  of  his 
arms. 

They  were  both  rather  white  now;  her  breath  came 
and  went  irregularly,  checked  in  her  throat  with  a 
little  sob  at  intervals.  She  leaned  back  against  the 
wall,  one  jewelled  hand  against  her  breast,  looking 
aside  and  away  from  where  he  stood. 

"I  told  you,"  he  said,  unsteadily. 

She  remained  silent,  keeping  her  gaze  resolutely 
averted. 

"You  understand  now,  don't  you?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded. 

Then  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  again,  and  she 
threw  back  her  lovely  head,  looking  at  him  with  fright- 
ened eyes,  defending  her  lips  with  a  bare,  jewelled  arm 
across  them. 

He  laughed  breathlessly  and  kissed  the  partly 
clenched  fingers. 

"Don't,"  she  whispered,  her  grey  eyes  brilliant  with 
fear. 

228 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Do  you  understand  that  I  am  in  love  with  you, 
Steve?" 

• 

"Let  me  go,  Jim — 

"Do  you?" 

"Don't  kiss  me — that  way " 

"Do  you  believe  me?" 

"I  don't  want  to! "  Suddenly  she  turned  ter- 
ribly white  in  his  arms,  swayed  a  moment  against  him. 
He  released  her,  steadied  her;  she  passed  one  arm 
through  his,  leaning  heavily  on  him. 

"Are  you  faint,  Steve?"  he  whispered. 

"A — little.  It's  nothing.  The  air  here  is  stifling. 
.  .  .  I'm  tired."  .  .  .  She  dropped  her  head  against 
his  shoulder.  Her  lids  were  half  closed  as  they  de- 
scended the  steps,  he  guiding  her. 

It  seemed  to  her  an  interminable  descent.  She  felt 
as  though  she  were  falling  through  space  into  a  glit- 
tering, roaring  abyss.  In  their  box  sat  Helen  and 
Grayson,  gossiping  gaily  together  and  waiting  for 
another  dance  to  begin.  Cleland  warned  Stephanie  in 
a  whisper,  and  she  lifted  her  head  and  straightened  up 
with  an  effort. 

She  said  mechanically: 

"I'm  going  home ;  I'm  very  tired." 

Helen  and  Grayson  rose  and  the  former  came  toward 
her  inquiringly. 

Stephanie  smiled: 

"Jim  will  take  me  back,"  she  said.  "Don't  let  me 
disturb  your  pleasure.  And  tell  Oswald  I  was  very 
sleepy.  .  .  .  And  not  to  come  to  the  studio  for  a  day 
or  two.  Good  night,  dear." 

She  made  a  humorously  tired  little  gesture  of  fai 
well  to  Grayson  also,  and,  taking  Cleland's  arm  agai 
sauntered  with  him  toward  the  lobby. 

229 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Get  your  overcoat  and  my  wraps,"  she  said  in  a 
colourless,  even  voice.  "I  have  a  car  outside.  Here's 
the  call-check.  I'll  wait  over  there  for  you." 

Her  car,  a  toy  limousine,  was  ultimately  found. 
Cleland  redeemed  his  overcoat  and  her  wrap.  When 
he  came  back  for  her  she  smiled  at  him,  suffered  him 
to  swathe  her  in  the  white  silk  cloak,  and,  laying  her 
dainty  hand  lightly  on  his  sleeve,  went  out  with  him  into 
the  lamp-lit  grey  of  dawn. 

"You  are  feeling  better,"  he  said  as  they  seated 
themselves  in  the  limousine  and  the  little  car  rolled 
away  southward. 

"Yes.  It  was  the  stifling  atmosphere  there,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"It  was  horribly  close,"  he  assented. 

They  remained  silent  for  a  while.     Then,  abruptly: 

"Have  I  made  you  angry,  Steve?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  up  and  laughed: 

"You  adorable  boy,"  she  said. 

"You  don't  mind  if  I'm  in  love  with  you?"  he  asked. 

"I  haven't  any  mind.  I  can't  seem  to  think.  .  .  .  But 
I  don't  think  you'd  better  kiss  me  until  I  collect  my 
senses  again.  .  .  .  Please  don't,  Jim." 

They  became  silent  again  until  the  car  drew  up 
before  her  door.  She  had  two  keys  in  her  cloak  pocket ; 
she  paused  to  give  the  chauffeur  an  order,  turning  to 
ask  Cleland  whether  he  didn't  want  the  car  to  take 
him  to  the  Hotel  Rochambeau. 

"Thanks;  it's  only  a  step.     I  had  rather  walk." 

So  the  car  drove  away;  Cleland  opened  the  front 
door  for  her,  then  her  own  studio  door.  She  felt 
around  the  corner  in  the  darkness  and  switched  on  the 
electric  bulb  in  a  standing  lamp. 

230 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Good  night,  Steve,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  in 
both  of  his. 

"Good  night.  .  .  .  Unless  you  care  to  talk  to  me 
for  a  little  while." 

"It's  four  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"I  can't  sleep — I  know  that." 

He  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"Besides,  I  am  very  much  in  love  with  you.  I  think 
I  had  better  go  back." 

"Oh.  ...  Do  you  think  so?" 

"Don't  you?"  " 

"I  told  you  that  I  haven't  recovered  enough  sense  to 
think." 

She  crossed  the  threshold  and  walked  into  the  studio, 
dropping  her  cloak  across  a  chair ;  and  presently  halted 
before  the  empty  fireplace,  gazing  into  its  smoke-black- 
ened depths. 

For  a  few  moments  she  stood  there  in  a  brown  study 
— a  glittering,  exquisite  figure  in  the  subdued  light 
which  fell  in  tiny  points  of  fire  on  gem  and  ring,  brace- 
let and  girdle,  and  tipped  the  gilded  sandals  on  her 
little  naked  feet  with  sparks  of  living  flame. 

Then  she  turned  her  charming  young  head  and  looked 
across  at  him  where  he  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"What  do  you  think?"  she  said.  "Ought  you  to 
go?" 

"I  ought  to.    But  I  don't  think  I  shall." 

"No,  don't  go,"  she  said  with  a  little  laugh.  "After 
all,  if  we're  not  to  remain  brother  and  sister  any  longer, 
there's  a  most  fascinating  novelty  in  your  being  here." 

He  came  in  and  closed  the  door.  She  made  room 
for  him  on  the  sofa  and  he  flung  his  coat  across  her 
cloak  and  seated  himself. 

"Now,"  she  said,  dropping  one  silken  knee  over  the 

231 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


other  and  clasping  her  hands  around  it,  "how  much 
can  we  care  for  each  other  without  being  silly?  You 
know  I  have  a  dreadful  intuition  that  I'd  better  not 
kiss  you  any  more.  Not  that  I  don't  adore  you  as 
much  as  I  always  did " 

She  turned  squarely  around  and  looked  at  him  out 
of  her  lovely  eyes : 

"You  took  me  by  surprise.  I  didn't  understand. 
Then,  suddenly  I  lost  my  senses  and  became  panicky. 
I  was  scared  stiff,  Jim — you  kissed  me  so  many 
times " 

He  reddened  and  looked  down.  Under  his  eyes  her 
bare  foot  hung  in  its  golden  sandal — an  exquisite, 
snowy  little  foot,  quite  perfectly  fashioned  to  match 
her  hands'  soft  symmetry. 

"If  you  loved  me,"  he  said,  "you  would  not  care 
how  many  times  I  kissed  you." 

"But  you  kept  on — and  you  kissed  my  eyes  and 
throat " 

"You  wouldn't  care  what  I  did  if  you  loved  me." 

"But  they  were  unusual  places  to  be  kissed.  I  was 
scared.  Did  you  think  me  ridiculous?  It  was  rather 
startling,  you  know.  It  was  such  a  complete  nov- 
city." 

She  admitted  it  so  naively  that  he  laughed  in  spite  of 
his  chagrin. 

"Steve,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  what  to  do  about 
it.  I'm  falling  more  deeply  in  love  with  you  every 
moment;  and  you  are  merely  kind  and  sweet  and 
friendly  about  it " 

"I'm  intensely  interested !"  she  said. 

"Interested,"  he  repeated;  "yes,  that  describes  it." 

"A  girl  couldn't  help  being  interested  when  a  man 
she  had  always  adored  as  a  brother  suddenly  takes  her 

232 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


into  his  arms  and  kisses  her  in  unusual  places,"  she 
said,  " — and  does  it  a  great  number  of  times " 

"Probably  you  kept  count,"  he  said  with  boyish 
sarcasm. 

She  laughed  outright: 

"I  wish  I  had.  It  was  a  perfectly  shameless  per- 
formance. If  you  ever  do  it  again  I  shall  keep  count — 
out  loud!" 

"Is  that  all  you'll  do?" 

"What  else  is  there  to  do?"  she  inquired,  smiling  a 
trifle  uneasily. 

"You  might  find  it  in  your  heart  to  respond." 

"How  can  my  heart  hold  any  more  of  you  than  it 
does  and  always  has?"  she  asked  with  pretty  impa- 
tience. 

"Can't  you  love  me?" 

"I  don't  know  how  to  any  more  than  I  do." 

"But  you  did  not  find  it  agreeable  when  I  kissed 
you." 

"I — don't  know  what  I  felt.  .  .  .  We  always 
kissed."  She  began  to  laugh.  "I  enjoyed  that;  but 
I  don't  think  you  did,  always.  You  sometimes  looked 
rather  bored,  Jim." 

"I'm  getting  well  paid  back,"  he  said. 

This  seemed  to  afford  her  infinite  delight;  there  was 
malice  in  her  grey  eyes  now,  and  a  hint  of  pretty  mock- 
ery in  her  laughter. 

"To  think,"  she  said,  "that  James  Cleland  should 
ever  become  sentimental  with  poor  little  Stephanie 
Quest!  What  an  unbending!  What  condescension! 
What  a  come-down!  Oh,  Jim,  if  I've  really  got  you 
at  last  I'm  going  to  raise  the  very  devil  with  you !" 

"You're  doing  it." 

"Am  I?     I  hope  I  am!     I  mean  to  torment  you! 

233 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Why,  when  I  think  of  the  long,  long  years  of  childish 
adoration  and  awe — of  the  days  when  I  tagged  after 
you,  grateful  to  be  noticed,  thankful  when  you  found 
time  for  me "  She  clapped  her  hands  together  de- 
lightedly, enchanted  with  his  glum  and  reddening  face. 
For  what  she  said  was  the  truth;  he  knew  it,  though 
she  did  not  realize  how  true  it  had  been — and  meant 
merely  to  exaggerate. 

"Also,"  she  said,  "you  leave  me  quite  alone  for  three 
whole  years  when  you  could  have  come  back  at  the 
end  of  two !" 

His  face  darkened  and  he  bit  his  lip. 

"You're  quite  right,"  he  said  in  a  quiet  voice.  "A 
girl  couldn't  very  well  fall  in  love  with  that  sort  of 
man." 

There  was  a  silence.  She  had  been  enjoying  her 
revenge,  but  she  had  not  expected  him  to  take  it  so 
seriously. 

He  sat  there  with  lowered  head,  considering,  gnaw- 
ing at  his  under-lip  in  silence.  She  had  not  intended 
to  hurt  him.  She  was  inexperienced  enough  with  him 
to  be  worried.  His  features  seemed  older,  leaner,  full 
of  unfamiliar  shadows — disturbingly  aloof  and  stern. 

She  hesitated — the  swift,  confused  memory  of  an 
hour  before  checking  her  for  an  instant,  then  she 
leaned  toward  him,  quite  certain  of  what  would  happen 
— silent  and  curious  as  he  drew  her  into  his  arms. 

She  was  very  silent,  too,  listening  to  his  impetuous, 
broken  avowal — suffering  his  close  embrace,  his  lips 
on  her  eyes  and  mouth  and  throat  once  more.  The 
enormous  novelty  of  it  preoccupied  her;  the  intense 
interest  in  his  state  of  mind.  Her  curiosity  held  her 
spellbound,  too,  and  unresponsive  but  fascinated. 

She  lay  very  quietly  in  his  arms,  her  lovely  head 

234 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


resting  on  his  shoulder,  sometimes  with  eyes  closed, 
sometimes  watching  him,  meeting  his  eyes  with  a  faint 
smile. 

Contact  with  him  no  longer  frightened  her.  Her 
mind  was  clear,  busy  with  this  enormous  novelty, 
searching  for  the  reason  of  it,  striving  to  understand 
his  passion  which  she  shyly  recognized  with  an  odd 
feeling  of  pride  and  tenderness,  but  to  which  there  was 
nothing  in  her  that  responded — nothing  more  than 
tender  loyalty  and  the  old  love  she  had  always  given 
him. 

The  grey  tranquillity  of  her  eyes,  virginal  and  clear 
— the  pulseless  quiet  of  the  girl  chilled  him. 

"You  don't  love  me,  Steve,  do  you?" 

"Not — as  you — wish  me  to." 

"Can't  you?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Is  there  any  chance?" 

She  looked  out  across  the  studio,  considering,  and 
her  grey  eyes  grew  vague  and  remote. 

"I  don't  know,  Jim.  ...  I  think  that  something  has 
been  left  out  of  me.  .  .  .  Whatever  it  is.  I  don't 
know  how  to  love — fall  in  love — as  you  wish  me  to.  I 
don't  know  how  to  go  about  it.  Perhaps  it's  because 
I've  never  thought  about  it.  It's  never  occupied  my 
mind." 

"Then,"  he  burst  out,  "how  in  God's  name  did  you 
ever  come  to  marry!" 

She  looked  up  at  him  gravely: 

"That  is  very  different,"  she  said. 

"Then  you  are  in  love  with  him!" 

"I  told  you  that  he  fascinates  me." 

"Is  it  love?"  he  asked  violentlv. 

"I  don't  know." 

235 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"You  must  know!     You've  got  a  mind!" 

"It  doesn't  explain  what  I  feel  for  him.  I  can't  put 
it  into  words." 

He  drew  her  roughly  to  him,  bent  over  her,  looked 
into  her  eyes,  and  kissed  her  lips  again  and  again. 

"Can't  you  love  me,  Steve?  Can't  you?"  he  stam- 
mered. 

"I — want  to.  I  wish  I  did — the  way  you  want 
me  to." 

"Will  you  try?" 

"I  don't  know  how  to  try." 

"Do  your  lips  on  mine  mean  nothing  to  you?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  You  are  so  dear.  ...  I  am  wonder- 
fully contented — and  not  afraid." 

After  a  moment  she  released  herself,  laughed,  and 
sat  up,  adjusting  her  hair  with  one  hand  and  resting 
against  his  shoulder. 

"A  fine  scandal  if  Helen  should  come  in,"  she  re- 
marked. "It's  odd  to  think  of  myself  as  married.  And 
that's  another  thing,  Jim.  It  never  occurred  to  me 
until  now,  but  I've  no  business  to  give  myself  up  to 
3rou  as  I  have  to-night."  She  leaned  forward  on  one 
elbow,  musing  for  a  while,  then,  lifting  her  head  with 
a  troubled  smile:  "But  what  is  a  girl  to  do  when  her 
brother  suddenly  turns  into  her  lover?  Must  she  for- 
bid him  to  kiss  her?  And  refrain  from  kissing 
him? '  She  flung  one  arm  around  his  neck  im- 
pulsively. "I  won't  forbid  you!  I  would  have  to  if 
I  were  in  love  with  you  in  the  same  way.  But  I'm 
not  and  I  don't  care  what  you  do.  And  whatever  you 
do,  I  adore  anyway." 

A  key  rattled  in  the  lock;  she  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  went  toward  the  door.  Helen  came  in,  and  she 
saw  Grayson  and  Grismer  standing  in  the  hallway. 

236 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Come  in  everybody !"  she  cried.  "Shall  we  all  have 
breakfast  before  we  part?  Don't  you  think  it  would 
be  delightful,  Phil?  Don't  you,  Oswald?  And  you 
know  we  could  take  up  the  rugs  and  dance  while  the 
coffee  is  boiling.  Wait!  I'll  turn  on  the  music- 
box! " 

Helen  and  Grayson  deliberately  began  a  tango ; 
Grismer  came  over  to  where  Cleland  was  standing: 

"They're  still  dancing  in  the  Garden,"  he  said  pleas- 
antly. "Did  you  and  Stephanie  get  enough  of  it?" 


CHAPTER  XX 

CLELAND,  being  young,  required  sleep,  and  it 
was  not  until  noon  that  he  awoke. 
Cool-headed    retrospection    during    tubbing 
and  dressing  increased  his  astonishment  at  the  manner 
in  which  he  had  spent  his  first  day  in  New  York  after 
the  years  of  absence.     For  into  that  one  day  had  been 
crowded  a  whole  gamut  of  experience  and  of  sensations 
that  seemed  incredible  when  he  thought  them  over. 

Every  emotion  that  a  young  man  could  experience 
seemed  to  have  been  called  into  play  during  that  be- 
wildering day  and  night — curiosity,  resentment,  appre- 
hension, anger,  jealousy,  love,  passion.  And  their  swift 
and  unexpected  sequence  had  confused  him,  wrought 
him  up  to  a  pitch  of  excitement  which  set  every  nerve 
on  edge. 

He  could  not  comprehend  what  had  happened,  what 
he  had  experienced  and  said  and  done  as  he  stood  at 
his  window  looking  out  into  the  sunshine  of  the  quiet 
street;  and  yet,  just  around  the  corner  the  girl  who 
was  the  cause  and  reason  of  it  all  lay  still  asleep,  in 
all  probability. 

Breakfast  was  served  in  his  room  and  he  ate  it  with 
a  perfectly  healthy  appetite.  Then  he  lighted  a  cigar- 
ette and  walked  to  the  window  again  to  stare  silently 
out  across  the  sunny  street  and  marshall  his  thoughts 
into  some  semblance  of  order. 

The  aromatic  smoke  from  his  cigarette  curled  against 
238 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


the  window  pane  and  he  gazed  absently  through  it  at 
the  vague  phantom  of  a  girl's  face  which  memory 
evoked  unbidden. 

What  had  happened?  Was  it  really  love?  Was 
it  anger,  wounded  amour-propre,  jealousy?  Was  it 
resentment  and  disgust  at  the  silly,  meaningless  thing 
that  one  whom  he  had  considered  as  his  own  kinswoman 
had  done  in  his  absence?  Was  it  a  determination  to 
tear  her  loose  that  had  started  the  thing — an  unrea- 
soning, impulsive  attempt  at  vengeance,  born  of  hurt 
pride  that  incited  him  to  get  her  back?  For  the  bond 
between  her  and  Grismer  seemed  to  him  intolerable, 
hateful — a  thing  he  would  not  endure  if  he  could 
shatter  it. 

Why?  Was  it  because  he  himself  had  fallen  in  love 
with  a  girl  whom,  heretofore,  he  had  regarded  with 
the  tranquil,  tolerant  affection  of  a  brother?  Was  it 
love?  Was  there  any  other  name  for  the  impulse  which 
had  suddenly  overmastered  him  when  he  caught  this 
girl  in  his  arms,  confused,  frightened,  stunned  her  with 
hot,  incoherent  declarations?  Had  he  even  really 
meant  what  he  had  said — not  in  the  swift  hurricane  of 
passion  which  had  enveloped  him  like  a  flame  wrhen  he 
held  her  waist  enlaced  and  the  sweetness  of  her  face 
and  throat  and  hair  blinded  him  to  everything  else — 
but  in  the  cold  after-light  of  retrospection  did  he  now 
mean  what  he  had  said  last  night? 

Or  had  it  all  been  due  to  the  place  and  the  hour — 
the  relaxing  of  convention  in  the  shattering  din  of 
music  and  laughter — the  whirlwind  of  gaiety  and  ex- 
citement— the  girl's  beauty — the  sudden  thrill  of  his 
contact  with  her?  Was  that  what  had  accounted  for 
what  he  had  done  and  said? — brute  impulse  loosed  by 
passion  born  out  of  nothing  more  noble  than  the  mo- 

239 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ment's  mental  intoxication — nothing  more  real  than 
ephemeral  emotion,  excitement,  sheer  physical  sen- 
sation ? 

It  was  not  like  him.  He  realized  that.  Hitherto 
his  brain  had  been  in  control  of  his  emotions.  His 
was  a  clear  mind,  normally.  Impulse  seldom  tripped 
him. 

He  had  never  been  in  love — never  even  tried  to  per- 
suade himself  that  he  had  been,  even  when  he  had,  in 
his  boyish  loneliness  in  Paris,  built  for  himself  a  be- 
witching ideal  out  of  a  very  familiar  Stephanie  and 
had  addressed  to  this  ideal  several  reams  of  romantic 
nonsense.  That  had  been  merely  the  safety  valve 
working  in  the  very  full  and  lonely  heart  of  a  boy. 

Even  in  the  gay,  ephemeral,  irresponsible  affairs 
that  occurred  from  time  to  time  during  his  career 
abroad — even  when  in  the  full  tide  of  romantic  adora- 
tion for  his  mundane  Countess,  and  fairly  wallowing 
in  flattered  gratitude  for  her  daintily  amused  conde- 
scension, did  he  ever  deceive  himself  into  believing  he 
was  in  love. 

And  now,  in  the  lurid  light  of  the  exaggerated,  be- 
wildering, disquieting  events  of  the  preceding  day  and 
night,  he  was  trying  to  think  clearly  and  honestly — 
tr>Ting  to  reconcile  his  deeds  and  words  with  what  he 
had  known  of  himself — trying  to  find  out  what  really 
was  the  matter  with  him. 

He  did  not  know.  He  knew  that  Stephanie  had 
exasperated  him — exasperated  him  to  reckless  passion 
— exasperated  him  even  more  by  not  responding  to 
that  passign.  He  had  declared  his  love  for  her;  he 
had  attempted  to  drive  the  declaration  into  her  com- 
prehension by  the  very  violence  of  reiteration.  The 
tranquil,  happy  loyalty,  which  always  had  been  his, 

240 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


was  all  he  evoked  in  her  for  all  the  impulsive  vows 
he  made,  for  all  his  reckless  emotion  loosened  with  the 
touch  of  her  lips — so  hotly  ungoverned  when  her  grey 
eyes  looked  into  his,  honestly  perplexed,  sweetly  search- 
ing to  comprehend  the  source  of  these  fierce  flames 
which  merely  warmed  her  with  their  breath. 

"It's  a  curious  thing,"  he  thought,  "that  a  man, 
part  of  whose  profession  is  to  write  about  love  and 
analyze  it,  doesn't  know  whether  he's  in  love  or  not." 

It  was  quite  true.  He  didn't  know.  Accepted  symp- 
toms were  lacking.  He  had  not  awakened  thrilled  with 
happiness  at  the  memory  of  the  night  before.  He 
awoke  dazed  and  doubtful  that  all  these  things  had 
happened,  worried,  searching  in  his  mind  for  some 
reason  for  his  behaviour. 

And,  except  that  a  man  had  taken  her  out  of  his 
keeping,  and  that  resentment  and  jealousy  had  incited 
him  to  recover  her,  and,  further,  in  the  excitement  of 
the  attempt,  that  he  had  suddenly  found  himself  in- 
volved in  deeper,  fiercer  emotions  than  he  had  bargained 
for,  he  could  come  to  no  conclusion  concerning  his 
actual  feeling  for  Stephanie. 

He  spent  the  day  hunting  for  a  studio-apartment. 

About  five  o'clock  he  called  her  on  the  telephone; 
and  heard  her  voice  presently: 

"Have  you  quite  recovered,  Jim  ?     I  .feel  splendid !" 

"Recovered?  I  was  all  right  this  morning  when  I 
woke  up." 

"I  mean  your  senses?" 

"Oh.     Did  you  think  I  lost  them  last  night,  Steve?" 

"Didn't  you?" 

Her  voice  was  very  sweet  but  there  was  in  it  a  hint 
of  hidden  laughter. 

241 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"No,"  he  said  shortly. 

"Oh.  Then  you  really  were  in  your  right  senses  last 
night?"  she  inquired. 

"Certainly.     Were  you?" 

"Well,  for  a  little  while  I  seemed  to  have  lost  the 
power  of  thinking.  But  after  that  I  was  intensely, 
consciously,  deeply  interested  and  profoundly  curi- 
ous." He  could  hear  her  laughing. 

"Curious  about  what?"  he  demanded. 

"About  your  state  of  mind,  Jim.  The  situation  was 
such  a  novelty,  too.  I  was  trying  to  comprehend  it — 
trying  to  consider  what  a  girl  should  do  in  such  a 
curious  emergency." 

"Emergency?"  he  repeated. 

"Certainly.  Do  you  fancy  I'm  accustomed  to  such 
novelties  as  you  introduced  me  to  last  night?" 

"What  do  you  think  about  them  now?" 

"I'm  slightly  ashamed  of  us  both.  We  were  rather 
silly,  you  know " 

"You  were  not,"  he  interrupted  drily. 

"Is  that  a  tribute  or  a  reproach?"  came  her  gay 
voice  over  the  wire.  I  don't  quite  know  how  to  take 
it!" 

"Reassure  yourself,  Steve.  You  were  most  circum- 
spect and  emotionless " 

"Jim !  That  is  brutal  and  untrue !  I  was  not  cir- 
cumspect !" 

"You  were  the  other,  then." 

"What  a  perfectly  cruel  and  outrageous  slander! 
You've  made  me  unhappy,  now.  And  all  day  I've  been 
so  absolutely  happy  in  thinking  of  what  happened." 

"Is  that  true?"  he  asked  in  an  altered  voice. 

"Of  course  it's  true!" 

"You  just  said  you  were  ashamed " 

242 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"I  was,  very,  very  slightly ;  but  I've  been  too  happy 
to  be  very  much  ashamed!" 

"You  darling! " 

"Oh !  The  gentleman  bestows  praise !  Such  a  kind 
gentleman  to  perceive  merit  and  confer  his  distinguished 
approval.  Any  girl  ought  to  endeavour  to  earn  fur- 
ther marks  of  consideration  and  applause  from  so 
gracious  a  gentleman " 

"Steve,  you  tormenting  little  wretch,  can't  you  be 
serious  with  me?" 

"I  am,"  she  said,  laughing.  "Tell  me  what  you've 
been  doing  to-day?" 

"Hunting  for  lodgings.  What  have  you  been 
doing?" 

"Watching  Helen  make  a  study  of  a  horse  out  in 
the  covered  court.  Then  we  had  tea.  Then  Oswald 
dropped  in  and  played  the  piano  divinely,  as  he  always 
does.  Then  Helen  and  I  started  to  dress  for  dinner. 
Then  you  called.  Where  did  you  look  for  lodgings?" 

"Oh,  I  went  to  about  all  the  studio  buildings " 

" Aren't  you  going  to  open  the  house  ?" 

"No.     It's  too  lonely." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "it  would  be  too  lonely.  You  and 
I  couldn't  very  well  live  there  together  unless  we  had 
an  older  woman." 

"No." 

"So  it's  better  not  to  open  it  until" — she  laughed 
gaily — "you  marry  some  nice  girl.  Then  it  will  be 
safe  enough  for  me  to  call  on  the  Cleland  family,  I 
fancy.  Won't  it,  Jim?" 

"Quite,"  he  replied  drily.  "But  when  I  marry  that 
nice  girl,  you  won't  have  far  to  go  when  you  call  on 
the  Cleland  family." 

"Oh,  how  kind!    You  mean  to  board  me,  Jim?" 

243 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"You  know  what  I  do  mean,"  he  said. 

"I  wonder!  Is  it  really  a  declaration  of  serious  and 
respectable  intentions?  But  you're  quite  safe.  And 
I'm  afraid  you  know  it.  Tell  me,  did  you  find  an 
apartment  to  suit  you?" 

"No." 

"Why  not  come  here?  There's  a  studio  and  apart- 
ment which  will  be  free  May  first.  Oh,  Jim,  please 
take  it  !  If  you  say  so  I'll  telephone  the  agent  now! 
Shall  I?  It  would  be  too  heavenly  if  we  were  under 
the  same  roof  again  !" 

"Do  you  want  me,  Steve?  After  —  and  in  spite  of 
everything  ?" 

"Want  you?"  He  heard  her  happy,  scornful 
laughter.  Then:  "We're  dining  out,  Jim;  but  come 
to-morrow.  I'll  telephone  now  that  you'll  take  the 
studio.  May  I,  Jim  dear?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.     "And  I'll  come  to  you  to-morrow." 

"You  angel  boy  !  I  wish  I  weren't  going  out  to- 
night. Thank  you,  Jim,  dear,  for  making  me  happy 
again." 


"Indescribably.  I  don't  think  you  know  what  your 
kindness  to  me  means.  It  makes  a  different  person  of 
me.  It  fills  and  thrills  and  inspires  me.  Why,  Jim,  it 
actually  is  health  and  life  to  me.  And  when  you  are 
unkind  —  it  seems  to  paralyze  me  —  check  something  in 
my  mind.  I  can't  explain  -  -" 

"Steve  !" 

"Yes?" 

"Could  I  come  in  for  a  moment  now?" 

"I'm  dressing.  Oh,  Jim,  I'm  sorry,  but  I'm  late  as 
it  is.  You  know  I  want  you,  don't  you?" 

"All  right  ;  to-morrow,  then,"  he  said  in  happy  voice. 

244 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


He  had  been  sitting  in  his  room  for  an  hour,  think- 
ing— letting  his  mind  wander  unchecked. 

If  he  were  not  really  in  love  with  Stephanie,  how 
could  a  mere  conversation  over  the  wire  with  her  give 
him  such  pleasure? 

The  day,  drawing  to  its  close  without  his  seeing 
her,  had  seemed  colourless  and  commonplace ;  but  the 
sound  of  her  gay  voice  over  the  wire  had  changed  that 
— had  made  the  day  complete. 

"I  believe  I  am  in  love,"  he  said  aloud.  He  rose 
and  paced  the  room  in  the  dusk,  questioning,  consid- 
ering his  own  uncertainty. 

For  the  "novelty" — as  Stephanie  called  it — of  last 
night's  fever  had  not  been  a  novelty  to  her  alone. 
Never  before  had  he  been  so  deeply  moved,  so  swept 
off  his  feet,  so  regardless  of  a  self-control  habitual  to 
him. 

Perhaps  anger  and  jealousy  had  started  it.  But 
these  ignoble  emotions  could  not  seem  to  account  for 
the  happiness  that  hearing  her  voice  had  just  given 
him. 

Even  the  voice  of  a  beloved  sister  doesn't  stir  a 
young  man  to  such  earnest  and  profound  reflection  as 
that  in  which  he  was  now  immersed,  indifferent  even 
to  the  dinner  hour,  which  had  long  been  over. 

"I  believe,"  he  said  aloud  to  himself,  "that  I'm  fall- 
ing very  seriously  in  love  with  Steve.  .  .  .  And  if  I 
am,  it's  a  rather  desperate  outlook.  .  .  .  She  seems 
to  be  in  love  with  Grismer — damn  him!  ...  I  don't 
know  how  to  face  such  a  thing.  .  .  .  She's  married  him 
and  she  doesn't  live  with  him.  .  .  .  She  admits  frankly 
that  he  fascinates  her.  .  .  .  There  are  women  who 
never  love.  ...  I  seem  to  want  her,  anyway.  ...  I 
think  I  do.  .  .  .  It's  a  mess !  .  .  .  Why  in  God's  name 

245 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


did  she  do  such  a  thing  if  she  wasn't  in  love  with  him 
— -or  if  she  didn't  expect  to  be?  Is  she  in  love  with 
him?  She  isn't  with  me.  .  .  .  I'm  certainly  drifting 
into  love  with  Steve.  .  .  .  Can  I  stop  myself?  .  .  . 
I  ought  to  be  able  to.  ...  Hadn't  I  better?" 

He  stood  still,  thinking,  the  street  lamps'  rays  out- 
side illuminating  his  room  with  a  dull  radiance. 

Presently  he  switched  on  the  light,  seated  himself  at 
the  desk,  and  wrote: 

STEVE,  DEAR: 

I  am  falling  in  love  with  you  very  seriously  and  very 
deeply.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  it. 

JIM. 

He  was  about  to  undress  and  retire  late  that  night 
when  a  letter  was  slipped  under  his  door: 

You  sentimental  and  adorable  boy!  What  is  there  to  do? 
The  happiest  girl  in  New  York,  very  sleepy  and  quite  ready 
for  bed,  bids  you  good  night,  enchanted  by  your  note. 

STEVE. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

TO  have  returned  after  three  years  abroad  and 
to  have  slipped  back  into  the  conventional  life 
of  the  circles  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed 
in  the  city  of  his  birth  might  not  have  been  very  easy 
for  Cleland.  To  readjust  himself  among  what  was 
unfamiliar  proved  easier,  perhaps.  For  his  family  circle 
existed  no  longer ;  the  old  servants  were  gone ;  the  house 
had  been  closed  for  a  long  time  now. 

At  his  college  club  unfamiliar  faces  were  already  in 
the  majority,  men  of  his  own  time  having  moved  on 
to  the  University,  Union,  Racquet  and  Knickerbocker, 
leaving  the  usual  residue  of  undesirables  and  a  fresh 
influx  from  his  college.  And  he  was  too  young  in 
letters  to  be  identified  yet  with  any  club  which  meant 
anything  except  the  conveniences  of  a  hotel. 

Among  friend  and  acquaintances  of  his  age  there 
had  been  many  changes,  too ;  much  shifting  and  read- 
justment of  groups  and  circles  incident  to  marriages 
and  deaths  and  the  scattering  migration  ever  in  prog- 
ress from  New  York. 

It  was  an  effort  for  him  to  pick  up  the  threads 
again;  and  he  did  not  make  the  effort.  It  was  much 
simpler  to  settle  down  here  in  these  quiet,  old-time 
streets  within  stone's  throw  of  the  artists'  quarter  of 
the  city  where  Stephanie  lived — where  a  few  boyhood 
friends  of  artistic  proclivities  had  taken  up  quarters, 
where  acquaintances  were  easily  made,  easily  avoided; 

247 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


and  where  the  informalities  of  existence  made  life  more 
easy,  more  direct,  and,  alas,  much  more  irresponsible. 

Chelsea,  with  a  conscious  effort  and  a  lurking  smirk, 
mirrored  the  Latin  Quarter  to  the  best  of  its  ability. 

It  did  pretty  well.  There  were  more  exaggerations, 
more  eccentricities,  less  spontaneity  and  less  work  in 
Chelsea  than  in  the  Latin  Quarter.  Too  many  of  its 
nomadic  denizens  were  playing  a  self-conscious  part ; 
too  few  of  them  possessed  the  intelligence  and  training 
necessary  for  self-expression  in  any  creative  profession. 
Otherwise,  they  were  as  emotional,  as  casual,  as  un- 
kempt, as  vain,  and  as  improvident  as  any  rapin  of 
the  original  Latin  Quarter. 

Cleland  met  many  of  the  elect  even  before  he  had 
settled  down  in  his  new  studio-apartment  on  the  top 
floor  of  the  same  building  where  Stephanie  and  Helen 
lived. 

The  quarter  was  peppered  with  tea-rooms  and 
cafes  and  restaurants  sufficiently  cheap  to  attract 
artistic  youth.  Also,  there  reigned  in  that  section  of 
the  city  a  general  and  resolute  determination  to  be 
bohemian;  a  number  of  damsels  errant  and  trajtis- 
planteu,  shock-headed  youths  cooked  in  thtir  own  quar- 
ters, strolled  about  the  street*  in  bed-room  slippers,  or 
visited  one  another  bare-headed  and  adorned  with 
paint-smeared  smocks. 

And  there  was,  of  course,  much  deviltry  with  cigar- 
ettes and  cheap  claret  in  restaurant  and  cafe — frequent 
outbursts  of  horse-play  and  song,  especially  if  Philis- 
tine visitors  were  detected  in  the  vicinity.  And  New 
York  French  was  frequently  though  briefly  employed 
as  the  limited  medium  for  exchanging  views  on  matters 
important  only  to  the  inmates  of  Chelsea  and  its 
purlieus. 

248 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"But  Washington  Square  bohemians  are  a  harm- 
less, friendly  people,"  remarked  Helen  to  Cleland  one 
morning  late  in  May,  when  he  stopped  on  his  way  out 
to  breakfast  to  watch  her  modelling  a  horse  in  clay. 
"They're  like  actor-folk;  they  live  in  a  world  entirely 
self-created  which  marvels  at  and  admires  and  watches 
them ;  they  pose  for  its  benefit,  playing  as  faithfully 
as  they  know  how  their  chosen  roles — painter,  writer, 
critic,  sculptor,  composer.  Nobody  in  the  outside  real 
and  busy  world  notices  them;  but  they  think  they're 
under  incessant  and  envious  observation  and  they  strut 
happily  through  the  little  painted  comedy  of  life,  liv- 
ing an  unreal  existence,  dying  undeceived.  The  real 
tragedy  of  it  all  they  mercifully  never  suspect — the 
utter  lack  of  interest  in  them  taken  by  real  people." 

She  went  on  modelling,  apparently  amused  by  her 
own  analysis. 

"Where  is  Stephanie?"  he  inquired,  after  a  slight 
pause. 

"Out  somewhere  with  Oswald,  I  believe." 

"It's  rather  early." 

"They  sometimes  get  up  early  and  breakfast  to- 
gether at  Claremont,"  remarked  Helen,  working 
serenely  away.  The  freckled  livery-stable  lad  who  held 
the  horse  for  her  and  occasionally  backed  him  into  the 
pose  again  continued  to  chew  gum  and  watch  the  pretty 
sculptor  with  absorbed  interest. 

"I've  got  such  an  interesting  commission,"  she  said, 
wetting  down  her  clay  with  a  huge  and  dripping  sponge. 
"It's  for  the  new  Academy  of  Arts  and  Letters  to  be 
built  uptown,  and  my  equestrian  figure  is  to  be  cast  in 
silver  bronze  for  the  great  marble  court." 

"What  is  the  subject?"  he  asked,  preoccupied  by 
what  she  had  told  him  about  Stephanie,  yet  watching 

249 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


this  busy  and  efficient  young  girl  who,  with  the  sleeves 
of  her  blue  blouse  rolled  up,  displaying  her  superb 
young  arms,  stood  vigorously  kneading  a  double  hand- 
ful of  clay  and  studying  the  restless  horse  with  clear 
and  very  beautiful  brown  eyes. 

"The  subject?  'Aspiration.'  I  made  some  sketches 
— a  winged  horse  taking  flight  upward.  A  nude  female 
figure,  breathless,  with  dishevelled  hair,  has  just  flung 
itself  upon  the  rearing,  wide-winged  Pegasus  and  is 
sticking  there  like  a  cat  to  the  back  fence — hanging 
on  tooth  and  nail  with  one  leg  just  over  and  the  other 
close  against  the  beast's  ribs,  and  her  desperate  fingers 
in  the  horse's  mane.  ...  I  don't  know.  It  sounds 
interesting  but  it  may  be  too  violent.  But  I've  had  that 
idea — hope,  aspiration,  fear  and  determination  cling- 
ing to  a  furious  winged  animal  that  is  just  starting 
upward  like  a  roaring  sky-rocket " 

She  turned  her  head,  laughing: 

"Is  it  a  rotten  idea?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  absently.  "It's  worth  trying 
out,  anyway." 

She  nodded ;  and  he  went  on  about  the  business  of 
breakfast.  But  had  now  no  appetite. 

There  was  one  thing,  Cleland  soon  found  out,  against 
which  he  was  helpless.  Stephanie  frequented  Grismer 
at  any  hour  of  the  day  and  evening  that  her  fancy 
prompted. 

This  perplexed  him  and  made  him  sullen;  but  when 
he  incautiously  started  to  remonstrate  with  her  one 
evening  her  surprise  and  anger  flashed  like  a  clear  little 
flame,  and  she  explained  very  clearly  what  was  the 
essence  of  personal  liberty,  and  that  the  one  thing  she 
would  not  tolerate  from  him  or  anybody  else  was  any 
invasion  of  her  freedom  of  thought  and  action. 

250 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Silenced,  enraged,  and  humiliated  at  the  rebuke  he 
had  retired  to  his  studio  to  sulk  like  Achilles — a  sullen 
mourner  at  the  bier  of  love.  For  he  fully  and  firmly 
determined  to  eradicate  this  girl  from  his  life  and 
devote  it  to  scourging  the  exasperating  sex  of  which 
she  was  a  beautiful  but  baffling  member. 

The  trouble  with  Stephanie,  however,  was  that  she 
could  not  seem  to  see  the  tragedy  in  his  life  or  under- 
stand that  a  young  man  desired  to  suffer  nobly  and 
haughtily  and  at  his  own  leisure  and  convenience. 

For  there  came  a  knock  at  his  door  after  his  second 
day  of  absenting  himself,  and  when  he  incautiously 
opened  it,  she  marched  in  and  took  him  gaily  into  her 
unembarrassed  arms  and  bestowed  upon  his  astonished 
countenance  a  hearty,  wholesome  and  vigorous  smack. 
Moreover,  she  laughed  and  jeered  and  tormented  and 
poked  merciless  fun  at  him  until  she  had  badgered  and 
worried  and  hectored  and  beaten  the  sulkiness  out  of 
him.  Then  she  admonished  him: 

"Don't  ever  do  it  again!"  she  said.  "We  are  free, 
you  and  I.  What  we  are  to  each  other  alone  con- 
cerns us,  not  what  we  may  choose  to  do  or  be  to 
others." 

"You  don't  care  what  I  do,  Steve,"  he  said. 

"I  care  what  you  do  to  me!" 

"How  I  behave  otherwise  doesn't  concern  you?" 

"No.  It  would  be  an  impertinence  for  me  to  meddle. 
For,"  she  added  in  smiling  paraphrase: 

"If  you  are  not  nice  to  me 
What  care  I  how  nice  you  be — 

to  other  girls?" 

"Do  you  really  mean  that  it  wouldn't  make  any  dif- 
ference to  you  what  I  do  ?  Suppose  I  take  you  at  your 

251 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


word  and  become  enamoured  of  some  girl  and  devote 
myself  to  her?" 

"You  mean  a  nice  girl,  don't  you?"  she  inquired. 

"Any  old  kind." 

She   considered  the  matter,   surprised. 

"I  couldn't  interfere  with  your  personal  liberty," 
she  concluded,  " — whatever  you  choose  to  do." 

"How  would  you  feel  about  my  frequenting  some 
pretty  studio  model,  for  example?" 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea." 

"It  wouldn't  affect  you  one  way  or  the  other,  then?" 

"It  ought  not  to — provided  you  are  always  nice 
to  me." 

"That,"  he  exclaimed,  "is  a  cold-blooded,  fishy 
creed !" 

"That's  the  creed  of  tolerance,  Jim." 

"All  right.  Live  up  to  it,  then.  And  I'll  try  to, 
too,"  he  added  drily.  "Because,  sometimes  when  you're 
off,  God  knows  where,  with  Grismer,  I  feel  lonely 
enough  to  drift  with  the  first  attractive  girl  I  come 
across." 

"Why  don't  you?"  she  asked,  flushing  slightly. 

"The  reason  I  haven't,"  he  said,  "is  because  I'm  in 
love  with  you." 

She  was  standing  with  head  bent,  but  now  she  looked 
up  quickly. 

"You  adorable  infant,"  she  laughed.  "What  a  child 
you  really  are,  after  all!  Come,"  she  added  mischiev- 
ously, "let's  kiss  like  good  children  and  let  the  gods 
occupy  themselves  with  our  future.  It's  their  business, 
not  ours.  I'm  glad  you  think  you're  in  love  with  me. 
But,  Jim,  I'm  in  love  with  life.  And  you're  such  an 
important  part  of  life  that,  naturally,  I  include  you !" 

She  bent   forward  and  touched  his   lips  with  hers, 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


daintily,  deftly  avoiding  his  arms,  her  eyes  gay  with 
malice. 

"No,"  she  laughed,  "not  that,  if  you  please,  dear 
friend !  It  rumples  and  raises  the  deuce  with  my  hair 
and  gown.  But  we  are  friends  again,  aren't  we,  Jim?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  " — if  you  can  give 
me  no  more  than  friendship." 

"It's  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  the  world!"  she 
insisted. 

"You've  read  that  somewhere." 

"You  annoy  me,  Jim!  It  is  my  own  conclusion. 
There's  nothing  finer  f.or  anybody — unless  they  want 
children.  And  I  don't." 

Neither  did  he.  No  young  man  does.  But  what  she 
said  struck  him  as  unpleasantly  modern. 

He  met  Grismer  here  and  there  in  the  artistic  chan- 
nels of  the  city ;  often  in  Stephanie's  studio,  frequently 
in  other  studios,  and  occasionally  amid  gatherings  at 
restaurants,  theatres,  art  galleries. 

At  first  he  had  been  civil  but  cool,  avoiding  any 
tete-a-tete  with  his  old  school-fellow.  But,  little  by 
little,  he  became  aware  of  several  things  which  slightly 
influenced  his  attitude  toward  Grismer. 

One  thing  became  plain;  the  man  had  no  intimates. 
There  was  not  a  man  Cleland  met  who  seemed  to  care 
very  much  for  Grismer;  he  seemed  to  have  no  frank 
and  cordial  friendships  among  men,  no  pals.  Yet,  he 
was  considered  clever  and  amusing  where  people  gath- 
ered ;  he  interested  men  without  evoking  their  personal 
sympathy;  he  interested  women  intensely  with  his  un- 
usual good  looks  and  the  light,  elusive  quality  of  his 
intelligence. 

Always  amiably  suave,  graceful  of  movement,  alert 

253 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


and  considerate  of  feminine  fancies,  moods  and  ca- 
prices, he  was  welcomed  everywhere  by  them  in  the  cir- 
cles which  he  sauntered  into.  But  he  was  merely 
accepted  by  men. 

So,  in  spite  of  his  resentment  at  what  Grismer  had 
done,  Cleland  felt  slightly  sorry  for  this  friendless  man. 
For  Grismer's  was  a  solitary  soul,  and  Cleland,  who 
had  suffered  from  loneliness  enough  to  understand  it, 
graduall}r  became  conscious  of  the  intense  loneliness  of 
this  man,  even  amid  his  popularity  with  women  and 
their  sympathetic  and  sentimental  curiosity  concern- 
ing him. 

But  no  man  seemed  to  care  for  closer  intimacy  with 
Grismer  than  a  friendly  acquaintanceship  offered. 
There  was  something  about  him  that  did  not  seem  to 
attract  or  invite  men's  careless  comradeship  or  con- 
fidence. 

"It's  those  floating  golden  specks  in  his  eyes,"  said 
Belter,  discussing  him  one  day  with  Cleland.  "He's 
altogether  too  auriferous  and  graceful  to  be  entirely 
genuine,  Cleland — too  easy  and  too  damned  bland. 
Poor  beggar ;  have  you  noticed  how  shabby  and  shiny 
he's  getting?  I  guess  he's  down  and  out  for  fair 
financially." 

Cleland  had  noticed  it.  The  man's  linen  was  vis- 
ibly frayed.  His  clothes,  too,  betrayed  his  meagre 
circumstances,  yet  he  wore  them  so  well,  and  there 
was  such  a  courtly  indifference  in  the  man,  that  the 
shabby  effect  seemed  due  to  a  sort  of  noble  care- 
lessness. 

Cleland  had  never  called  on  Grismer.  He  had  no 
inclination  to  do  so,  no  particular  reason  except  that 
Grismer  had  invited  him  several  times.  Yet,  an  uneasy 
curiosity  lurked  within  him  concerning  Grismer's 

254 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


abode  and  whether  Stephanie,  always  serenely  uncon- 
ventional, ever  went  there. 

He  didn't  care  to  think  she  did,  yet,  after  all,  the 
girl  was  this  man's  legal  wife,  and  there  was  no  moral 
law  to  prevent  her  going  there  and  taking  up  her  abode 
if  she  were  so  inclined. 

Cleland  never  asked  her  if  she  went  there,  perhaps 
dreading  her  reply. 

As  far  as  that  was  concerned,  he  could  not  find 
any  of  his  friends  or  acquaintances  who  had  ever  been 
in  Grismer's  lodgings.  Nobody  even  seemed  to  know 
exactly  where  they  were,  except  that  Grismer  lived 
somewhere  in  Bleecker  Street  and  never  entertained. 

At  times,  when  Stephanie  was  not  to  be  found,  and 
his  unhappy  inference  placed  her  in  Grismer's  com- 
pany, he  felt  an  unworthy  inclination  to  call  on  Gris- 
mer and  find  out  whether  the  girl  was  there.  But  the 
impulse  was  a  low  one,  and  made  him  ashamed,  and 
his  envy  and  jealousy  disgusted  him  with  himself. 

Besides,  his  state  of  mind  was  painfully  confused 
and  uncertain  in  regard  to  Stephanie.  He  was  in 
love  with  her,  evidently.  But  the  utter  lack  of  senti- 
mental response  on  her  part  afforded  his  love  for  her 
no  nourishment. 

He  traversed  the  entire  scale  of  emotions.  When 
he  was  not  with  her  he  often  came  to  the  exasperated 
conclusion  that  he  could  learn  to  forget  her;  when  he 
was  with  her  the  idea  seemed  rather  hopeless. 

The  unfortunate  part  of  it  seemed  to  be  that,  like 
his  father's,  his  was  a  single-track  heart.  He'd  never 
been  in  love,  unless  this  was  love.  Anyway,  Stephanie 
occupied  the  single  track,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no 
switches,  no  sidings,  nothing  to  clear  that  track. 

He  was  exceedingly  miserable  at  times. 

255 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


However,  his  mind  was  equipped  with  a  whole  ter- 
minal full  of  tracks  and  every  one  was  busy  in  the 
service  of  his  profession. 

For  a  month,  now,  he  had  been  installed  in  his  studio- 
apartment  on  the  top  floor.  He  picked  up  on  Fourth 
and  on  Madison  Avenues  enough  preciously  rickety 
furniture  to  make  him  comfortable  and  drive  friends  to 
distraction  when  they  ventured  to  trust  themselves  to 
chair  or  sofa. 

But  his  writing  table  and  corner-chair  were  solid  and 
modern,  and  he  had  half  a  dozen  things  under  con- 
struction— a  novel,  some  short  stories,  some  poems 
which  he  modestly  mentioned  as  verses. 

Except  for  the  unexplored  mazes  in  which  first  love 
had  involved  him  he  was  happy — exceedingly  happy. 
But,  to  a  creative  mind,  happiness  born  of  self-ex- 
pression is  a  weird,  uncanny,  composite  emotion,  made 
up  of  ecstatic  hope  and  dolorous  despair  and  well 
peppered  with  dread  and  confidence,  cowardice  and 
courage,  rage  and  tranquillity ;  and  further  seasoned 
with  every  devilish  doubt  and  celestial  satisfaction  that 
the  heart  of  a  writer  is  heir  to. 

In  the  morning  he  was  certain  of  himself.  He  was 
the  captain  of  his  destiny;  he  was  the  dictator  of  his 
inspiration,  equipped  with  the  technical  mastery  that 
his  obedient  thoughts  dare  not  disobey. 

By  afternoon  the  demon  Doubt  had  shaken  his  self- 
confidence,  and  Fear  peered  at  him  between  every  line 
of  his  manuscript,  and  it  was  a  case  of  Childe  Roland 
from  that  time  on  until  the  pencil  fell  from  his  un- 
nerved fingers  and  he  rose  from  his  work  satiated,  half- 
stunned,  not  knowing  whether  he  had  done  well  or 
meanly.  Vaguely  he  realized  at  such  moments  that, 
for  such  as  he,  a  just  appraisal  of  his  own  work  would 

256 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


never  be  possible  for  him — that  he  himself  would  never 
know;  and  that  what  men  said  of  it — if,  indeed,  they 
ever  said  anything  about  his  work — would  never  wholly 
convince  him,  never  entirely  enlighten  him  as  to  its 
value  or  its  worthlessness. 

That  is  one  of  the  penalties  imposed  upon  the  crea- 
tive mind.  It  goes  on  producing  because  it  must. 
Praise  stimulates  it,  blame  depresses ;  but  it  never 
knows  the  truth. 

Toward  the  end  of  May,  one  afternoon,  Stephanie 
came  into  his  studio,  seated  herself  calmly  in  his  chair, 
and  picked  up  his  manuscript. 

"It's  no  good,"  he  said,  throwing  himself  on  an 
antique  sofa  which  just  endured  the  strain  and  no 
more. 

She  read  for  an  hour,  her  grey  eyes  never  leaving  the 
written  pages,  her  pretty  brows  bent  inward  with  the 
strain  of  concentration. 

He  watched  her,  chin  on  hand,  lying  there  on  the 
sofa. 

But  the  air  was  mild  and  languorous  with  the  prom- 
ise of  the  coming  summer ;  sunshine  fell  across  the  wall ; 
the  boy  dozed,  presently,  and  after  a  while  lay  fast 
asleep. 

She  had  been  gone  for  some  time  when  he  awoke. 
As  he  sat  up,  blinking  through  the  late  afternoon  sun- 
shine, a  pencilled  sheet  of  yellow  manuscript  paper 
fluttered  from  his  breast  to  the  floor. 

Jim,  it  is  fine!  I  mean  it!  It  is  a  splendid,  virile,  honest 
piece  of  work.  And  it  is  intensely  interesting.  I'm  quite 
mad  about  it — quite  thrilled  that  you  can  do  such  things.  It's 
so  masterly,  so  mature — and  I  don't  know  where  you  got  your 
knowledge  of  that  woman,  because  she  is  perfectly  feminine 

257 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


and  women  think  and  do  such  things,  and  her  motives  are 
the  motives  that  animate  that  sort  of  woman. 

As  you  lie  there  asleep  you  look  about  eighteen — not  much 
older  than  when  I  used  to  see  you  when  you  came  home  from 
school  and  lay  on  your  sofa  and  read  Kipling  aloud  to  me. 
Then  I  was  awed;  you  were  a  grown  man  to  me.  Now  you 
are  just  a  boy  again,  and  I  love  you  dearly,  and  I'm  going 
to  kiss  your  hair,  very  cautiously,  before  I  go  downstairs. 

I've  done  it.    I'm  going  now. 

STEVE. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IT  happened  one  day  late  in    May  that   Cleland, 
desiring  local  accuracy  of  detail  in  a  chapter  of 
his  brand  new  novel,  put  on  his  hat  and  walked 
to  Washington  Square  and  across  it,  south,  into  the 
slums. 

New  leaves  graced  the  trees  in  the  park ;  spring 
flowers  bloomed  around  the  fountain,  and  the 
grass  was  rankly  fragrant  where  it  had  just  been 
mowed. 

But  he  left  the  spring  freshness  behind  him  when 
he  entered  that  sad,  dingy,  swarming  region  to  the 
south,  where  the  only  clean  creature  seemed  to  be  the 
occasional  policeman  in  his  new  summer  tunic,  saunter- 
ing aloof  amid  the  noise  and  wretchedness  and  the  foul 
odours  made  fouler  by  the  sunshine. 

Cleland  presently  found  the  squalid  street  which  he 
wished  to  describe  in  convincing  detail,  and  stood  there 
on  the  corner  in  the  shelter  of  a  tobacconist's  Dawning 
making  preliminary  mental  notes.  Then,  as  he  fished 
out  note-book  and  pencil,  intent  on  professional  memo- 
randa, he  saw  Grismer. 

The  man  wore  shabbier  clothes  than  Cleland  had  ever 
before  seen  him  wear;  he  was  crossing  the  filthy  street 
at  his  usual  graceful  and  leisurely  saunter,  and  he  did 
not  see  Cleland  under  the  awning. 

There  was  a  chop-suey  restaurant  opposite,  a  shabby, 
disreputable,  odoriferous  place,  doubly  repulsive  in 

259 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


the  pitiless  sunshine.     And  into  this  sauntered  Grismer 
and  disappeared.. 

The  slight  shock  of  the  episode  remained  to  bother 
Cleland  all  the  morning.  He  kept  thinking  of  it  while 
trying  to  work;  he  could  not  seem  to  put  it  from  his 
mind  and  finally  threw  aside  his  manuscript,  took  his 
hat  and  stick,  and  went  out  with  the  intention  of 
lunching. 

It  was  nearly  lunch  time,  but  he  did  not  walk  to- 
ward the  cream-coloured  Hotel  Rochambeau,  with  its 
green  awnings  and  its  French  flag  flying.  He  took  the 
other  way,  scarcely  realizing  what  he  meant  to  do  until 
he  turned  the  corner  into  Bleecker  Street. 

He  found  the  basement  he  was  in  search  of  pres- 
ently ;  two  steps  down,  an  area  gate  and  bell  encrusted 
with  rust,  and  a  diseased  and  homeless  cat  dozing  there 
in  patient  misery. 

"You  poor  devil,"  he  said,  offering  a  cautious  ca- 
ress ;  but  the  gaunt  creature  struck  at  him  and  fled. 

He  rang.  Jangling  echoes  resounded  from  within. 
Two  negro  wenches  and  a  Chinaman  surveyed  him  from 
adjoining  houses.  He  could  smell  a  sour  stench  from 
the  beer  saloon  opposite,  where  a  fat  German  beast  was 
washing  down  the  sidewalk  with  a  mop. 

"Hello,  Cleland.  This  is  very  nice  of  you.  Come 
in !"  said  a  pleasant  voice  behind  him,  and,  as  he  turned, 
Grismer,  in  shabby  slippers  and  faded  dressing-gown, 
opened  the  iron  wicket. 

"I  hadn't  called,"  said  Cleland  a  little  stiffly,  "—so  I 
thought  I'd  drop  in  for  a  moment  and  take  you  out 
somewhere  to  lunch." 

Grismer  smiled  his  curious,  non-committal  smile  and 
ushered  him  into  a  big,  whitewashed  basement*  with  a 
screen  barring  the  further  end  and  quite  bare  except 

260 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


for  a  few  bits  of  furniture,  some  plaster  casts,  and  half 
a  dozen  revolving  tables  on  which  stood  unfinished 
studies  in  clay  and  wax. 

Cleland  involuntarily  glanced  about  him,  then  went 
over  and  politely  examined  the  studies  in  clay. 

"I've  a  back  yard,  too,"  said  Grismer,  "where  I  work 
in  good  weather.  The  light  in  here  isn't  particularly 
good." 

For  the  wretchedness  of  his  quarters  he  made  no  fur- 
ther apology;  he  spoke  in  his  easy,  amiable  way  and 
entirely  without  embarrassment,  standing  beside  Cle- 
land and  moving  with  him  from  one  study  to  another. 

"They're  just  as  clever  as  they  can  be,"  said  Cleland, 
" — infernally  clever,  Grismer.  Are  they  commissions?" 

"I'm  sorry  to  say  they  are  not,"  replied  Grismer 
with  a  smile. 

"But  a  man  who  can  do  this  work  ought  never  to 
want  for  commissions,"  insisted  Cleland. 

"I'm  exceedingly  glad  you  like  my  work,"  returned 
Grismer  pleasantly,  "but  as  for  orders "  he  shrug- 
ged— "when  I  didn't  need  them  they  came  to  me.  But, 
Cleland,  when  the  world  learns  that  a  man  needs  any- 
thing it  suddenly  discovers  that  it  doesn't  need  him! 
Isn't  it  funny,"  he  added  good-humouredly,  "that  pros- 
perous talent  is  always  in  demand,  always  turning  down 
work  which  it  has  no  time  to  do ;  but  the  same  talent 
on  its  uppers  is  universally  under  deep  suspicion?" 

He  spoke  lightly,  impersonally,  and  without  the 
slightest  trace  of  bitterness.  "Sit  down  and  light  one 
of  your  own  cigarettes,"  he  said.  "I've  only  pipe- 
tobacco,  and  you  probably  wouldn't  care  for  it." 

Cleland  seated  himself  in  the  depths  of  a  big,  thread- 
bare arm-chair. 

Grismer  said  with  a  smile: 

261 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"No  use  informing  you  that  I'm  obliged  to  live  eco- 
nomically. Models  are  expensive;  so  is  material. 
Therefore,  I  live  where  I  can  afford  both,  and  a  roof 
to  cover  them.  .  .  .  And  do  you  know,  Cleland,  that 

after  all  it  doesn't  matter  much  where  one  sleeps " 

he  made  a  slight  gesture  toward  the  screen  at  the  end 
of  the  room.  "I  used  to  think  it  did  until  I  had  to 
give  up  a  place  of  my  own  full  of  expensive  and  beauti- 
ful things. 

"But  it  really  doesn't  matter.  The  main  idea  is  to 
be  free — free  of  debt,  free  of  expensive  impedimenta 
which  cause  one  anxiety,  free  from  the  importunities 
and  restrictions  of  one's  friends."  He  laughed  and 
dropped  one  long  leg  over  the  other. 

"I've  niggers  and  Chinamen  for  neighbours.  They 
cause  me  no  inconvenience.  It's  rather  agreeable  than 
otherwise  to  sit  here  and  work,  or  lounge  about  and 
smoke,  wondering  whether  a  commission  is  already  on 
its  way  or  whether  it  has  not  yet  even  taken  shape  in 
the  brain  of  some  person  unknown  who  is  destined  by 
fate  some  day  to  exchange  his  money  for  my  bronze  or 
marble.  .  .  .  It's  an  amusing  game,  Cleland,  isn't  it? 
— the  whole  affair  of  living,  I  mean.  .  .  .  Not  too  un- 
pleasant, not  too  agreeable.  .  .  .  But  if  one's  heart- 
action  were  not  involuntary  and  automatic,  do  you 
know,  if  it  lay  with  me  I'd  not  bother  to  keep  my  heart 
ticking — I'd  be  too  lazy  to  wind  it  up." 

He  stretched  himself  out  in  his  chair  gracefully, 
good-humoured,  serenely  amused  at  his  own  ideas. 

"Did  you  have  a  good  time  abroad?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes.  .  .  .  When  you  get  on  your  feet  you  ought 
to  go  to  Paris,  Grismer." 

"Yes,  I  know."  He  looked  humorously  at  his  well- 
shaped  feet  stretched  out  before  him  in  shabby  slip- 

262 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


pers.  "Yes;  it's  up  to  my  feet,  Cleland.  But  they're 
a  wandering,  indifferent  couple,  inclined  to  indolence,  I 
fear.  ...  Is  your  work  getting  on?" 

"I'm  busy.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  think  it's  taking  shape." 
He  looked  up  at  Grismer  hesitatingly,  frankly  troubled. 
"Grismer,  we  were  school-mates.  ...  I  wouldn't  wish 
you  to  think  me  impertinent " 

"Go  ahead,  Cleland." 

"Are  you  quite  sure?" 

"I'm  sure  of  you,"  returned  Grismer,  with  a  singular 
smile.  "  I  know  you  pretty  well,  Cleland.  I  knew  you 
in  school,  in  college.  .  .  .  We  fought  in  school.  You 
were  civil  to  me  at  Harvard."  He  laughed.  "I've  al- 
ways liked  you,  Cleland — which  is  more  than  you  can 
say  about  me." 

Cleland  reddened,  and  Grismer  laughed  again,  lightly 
and  without  effort : 

"It's  that  way  sometimes.  I  think  that  you  are  about 
the  only  man  I  have  ever  really  liked.  You  didn't 
know  that,  did  you?" 

"No." 

"Well,  don't  let  it  worry  you,"  added  Grismer, 
smiling.  "Go  on  and  say  what  you  were  about  to 
say." 

"It  was — I  was  merely  wondering — whether  you'd 

take  it  all  right  if "  He  began  again  from  another 

angle:  "I've  a  country  place — up  in  the  Berkshires — 
my  father's  old  place.  And  I  thought  that  a  foun- 
tain— if  you'd  care  to  design  one " 

Grismer  had  been  watching  him  with  that  indefinable 
smile  in  his  golden  eyes,  which  perplexed  men  and  in- 
terested women,  but  now  he  rose  suddenly  and  walked 
to  the  barred  windows  and  stood  there  with  his  back 
turned,  gazing  out  into  the  area.  After  an  interval 

263 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


he  pivoted  on  his  heels,  sauntered  back  and  seated 
himself,  relighting  his  pipe. 

"All  right,"  he  said  very  quietly.  "I'll  do  your 
fountain." 

Cleland  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  "If  you  like,"  he 
said,  "come  up  with  me  to  Runner's  Rest  in  June  and 
look  over  the  garden.  There  ought  to  be  a  pool  there ; 
there  are  plenty  of  springs  on  the  mountain  to  feed 
a  fountain  by  gravity.  I  think  it  would  be  fine  to  have 
a  pool  and  a  fountain  in  the  old  garden.  Is  it  under- 
stood that  you'll  do  it  for  me?" 

"Yes.  ...     I  don't  wish  to  be  paid." 

"Good  Lord !  You  and  I  are  professionals,  Grismer, 
not  beastly  amateurs.  Do  you  think  I'd  write  for  any- 
body unless  I'm  paid  for  it?" 

Grismer's  eyes  held  a  curious  expression  as  they 
rested  on  him.  Then  his  features  changed  and  he 
smiled  and  nodded  carelessly: 

"I'll  do  your  fountain  on  your  own  terms.  Tell  me 
when  you  are  ready." 

Cleland  rose: 

"Won't  you  change  your  mind  and  lunch  with  me 
somewhere  ?" 

"Thanks,  no."  Grismer  also  had  risen,  and  the  two 
men  confronted  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

Then  Grismer  said: 

"Cleland,  I  think  you're  the  only  man  in  the  world 
for  whom  I  have  any  real  consideration.  I  haven't 
much  use  for  men — no  delusions.  But  it  always  has 
been  different  about  you — even  when  we  fought  in  school 
— even  when  I  used  to  sneer  at  you  sometimes.  .  .  . 
And  I  want,  somehow,  to  make  you  understand  that  I 
wish  you  well ;  that  if  it  lay  with  me  you  should  attain 
tchatever  you  wish  in  life ;  that  if  attainment  depended 

264 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


upon  my  stepping  aside  I'd  do  it.  ...  That's  all  I 
can  say.  Think  it  over  and  try  to  understand." 

Cleland,  astonished,  looked  at  him  with  unconcealed 
embarrassment. 

"You're  very  kind,"  he  said,  "to  feel  so  generously 
interested  in  my  success.  I  wish  you  success,  too." 

Grismer  smiled: 

"You  don't  understand  me  after  all,"  he  said  pleas- 
antly. "I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't." 

"You  are  offering  me  your  friendship,  as  I  take  it," 
said  Cleland  awkwardly.  "Isn't  that  what  you  meant?" 

"Yes.     And  other  things.   ..." 

He  laughed  with  a  slight  touch  of  malice  in  his 
mirth : 

"There's  such  a  lot  yet  left  unsaid  between  you  and 
me,  which  you  and  I  must  say  to  each  other  some  day. 
But  there's  plenty  of  time,  Cleland.  .  .  .  And  I  shall 
be  very  glad  to  design  and  execute  a  fountain  for  your 
garden." 

He  offered  his  hand ;  Cleland  took  it,  the  embarrassed 
flush  still  staining  his  face. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "there  is  a  matter  that  I  wish  to  talk 
over  with  you  some  day,  Grismer." 

"I  know.  .  .  .  But  I  think  we  had  better  wait  a 
while.  .  .  .  Because  I  wish  to  answer  everything  you 
ask;  and  for  the  present  I  had  rather  not." 

They  walked  slowly  to  the  area  gate  and  Grismer 
unlocked  it. 

"I'm  glad  you  came,"  he  said.  "It's  a  bit  lonely 
sometimes.  ...  I  have  no  friends." 

"When  you  feel  that  way,"  said  Cleland,  "drop  in  on 
me." 

"Thanks." 

And  that  was  all.     Cleland  went  away  through  the 

265 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ill-smelling  streets,  crossed  the  sunny  square,  and 
walked  thoughtfully  back  to  his  own  studio. 

"He's  a  strange  man,"  he  mused,  " — he  was  a  strange 
boy,  and  he's  grown  into  a  curious  sort  of  man.  .  .  . 
Poor  devil.  .  .  .  It's  as  though  something  inside  him 
is  lacking — or  has  been  killed.  .  .  .  But  why  in  God's 
name  did  Steve  marry  him  unless  she  was  in  love  with 
him?  ...  It  must  be.  .  .  .  And  his  pride  won't  let 
him  take  her  until  he  can  stand  on  his  own  feet.  .  .  . 
When  I  dig  that  pool  I'll  dig  a  pit  for  my  feet.  .  .  . 
A  grave  for  a  fool.  .  .  ." 

He  unlocked  his  studio  and  went  in. 

"I'm  done  with  love,"  he  said  aloud  to  himself. 

The  jingle  of  the  telephone  bell  echoed  his  words 
and  he  walked  slowly  over  to  the  table  and  detached 
the  receiver. 

"Jim?" 

"Is  it  you,  Steve?" 

"Yes.    Would  you  like  some  tea  about  five?" 

"All  right.     I've  had  no  lunch  and  I'll  be  hungry." 

"You  know,  Jim,  I'm  not  going  to  provide  a  banquet 
for  you.  Why  don't  you  go  out  and  take  lunch?" 

"I  forgot  it.  I  don't  feel  like  work.  Shall  I  come 
down  and  talk  to  you  now  ?" 

"I'm  going  out  to  take  a  dancing  lesson  in  a  few 
moments.  I'll  talk  to  you  while  I'm  putting  on  my  hat." 

He  said  "All  right,"  took  his  hat  and  stick  and  went 
downstairs  again. 

She  opened  the  door  for  him,  offering  him  her  cool, 
slim  hand,  then  she  opened  a  hat-box  and  lifted  from 
it  a  hat. 

"I  believe  I'll  join  the  Russian  ballet,"  she  said.  "I 
do  dance  very  nicely.  You  should  hear  what  the  ballet 
master  says.  And  Miss  Duncan  and  Miss  St.  Denis 

266 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


watched   me   yesterday,    and   they   were   very    compli- 
mentary and  polite." 

"Nonsense.  It's  good  exercise,  but  it  would  be  a 
dog's  life  for  you  to  lead,  Steve.  Where  is  Helen?" 

"Out  hunting  a  model  for  her  Pegasus.  She  asked 
me  to  pose  for  the  mounted  figure,  but  I  haven't  time. 
I  can  fancy  myself,  in  a  complete  state  of  nature, 
scrambling  onto  some  rickety  old  livery  hack — 
She  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed,  then  inspected 
her  new  hat,  and,  facing  the  studio  mirror,  pinned  it 
to  her  chestnut  hair. 

"Do  you  like  it,  Jim?" 

"Fine.     You  make  all  hats  look  well." 

"Such  a  nice,  polite  boy !  So  well  brought  up !  But 
unfortunately  I  heard  you  say  the  same  thing  to 
Helen.  .  .  .  Where  have  you  been,  Jim?  I  called  you 
up  an  hour  ago." 

"I  went  to  see  Grismer,"  he  said,  coolly  ignoring  her 
perverse  and  tormenting  humour. 

"You  did?  Bless  your  dear,  generous  heart!"  cried 
the  girl.  "Do  you  know  that  if  it  were  in  me  to  be 
sentimental  over  you,  what  you  did  would  start  me? 
Continue  to  behave  like  a  real  man,  dear  friend,  and 
I'll  be  head  over  heels  in  love  before  I  know  it !" 

"Why?"  he  asked,  conscious  again  of  her  gaily  de- 
risive mood  and  not  caring  for  it. 

"Because,"  she  said,  "you  have  acted  like  a  man  in 
calling  on  Oswald,  and  not  like  a  spoiled  boy.  You 
resented  Oswald's  marrying  me.  You  have  been  sul- 
len and  suspicious  and  aloof  with  him  since  you  came 
back.  I  know  Oswald  better  than  you  do.  I  know  that 
he  has  felt  your  attitude  keenly,  though  he  never  ad- 
mitted it  even  to  me. 

"He  is  a  man  of  few  friends,  admired  but  not  well 

267 


liked ;  he  is  wretchedly  poor,  fiercely  proud,  sensi- 
tive  " 

"What!" 

"Did  you  think  he  wasn't?"  she  asked.  "He  is  pain- 
fully sensitive ;  pitiably  so.  I  think  women  divine  it, 
and  it  attracts  them." 

"He  hasn't  the  reputation  of  being  very  thin- 
skinned,"  remarked  Cleland  drily. 

"The  average  man  who  is  sensitive  would  die  to  con- 
ceal it.  You  ought  to  know  that,  Jim ;  it's  your  busi- 
ness to  dissect  people,  isn't  it?" 

She  thrust  a  second  pin  through  the  crown  of  her 
hat  and  adjusted  it  deftly. 

"Anyway,"  she  said,  "you  are  a  nice,  polite  boy  to 
go  to  see  him,  and  you  have  made  me  very  happy. 
Good-bye!  I  must  run " 

"Have  you  lunched?" 

"No,  but  I'm  going  to." 

"With  whom?"  he  asked  incautiously. 

"A  man." 

"You're  usually  just  going  out  to  lunch  or  dine  with 
some  man,"  he  said  sullenly. 

"I  like  men,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him. 

"What  you  probably  mean  is  that  you  like  admira- 
tion." 

"I  do.  It's  agreeable;  it's  sanitary;  it's  soothing. 
It  invigorates  one's  self-confidence  and  self-respect. 
And  it  doesn't  disarrange  one's  hair  and  rumple  one's 
gown.  Therefore,  I  prefer  the  undemonstrative  admi- 
ration of  a  man  to  the  indiscreet  demonstrations  of  a 
boy." 

"Do  you  mean  me?"  he  asked,  furious. 

But  she  ignored  the  question: 

"Boys  are  funny,"  she  said,  swinging  her  velvet  reti- 

268 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


cule  in  circles.  "Any  girl  can  upset  their  equilibrium. 
All  a  girl  has  to  do  is  to  look  at  a  boy  sideways — the 
way  Lady  Button-eyes  looked  at  you  yesterday  af- 
ternoon  " 

"What !" 

"At  the  Rochambeau.  And  you  got  up  and  went 
over  and  renewed  your  friendship  with  her.  Helen  and 
I  saw  you." 

"I  was  merely  civil,"  he  said. 

"So  was  she.  She  fished  out  a  card  and  wrote  on 
it.  /  don't  know  what  she  wrote." 

"She  wrote  her  telephone  call.  There  isn't  the  slight- 
est chance  of  my  using  it." 

Stephanie  laughed: 

"He  certainly  is  the  nicest,  politest  boy  in  all  Man- 
hattan, and  sister  is  very,  very  proud  of  him.  Good- 
bye,  James " 

She  offered  her  lips  to  him  audaciously,  bending  for- 
ward on  tip-toe,  both  hands  clasped  behind  her.  But 
her  grey  eyes  were  bright  with  malice. 

"Nice,  polite  boy,"  she  repeated.     "Kiss  little  sister." 

"No,"  he  said  gloomily,  "I'm  fed  up  on  sisterly 
kisses " 

"You  insulting  wretch!  Do  you  mean  you  won't? 
Then  you  shall !" 

She  started  toward  him,  wrath  in  her  eyes,  but  he 
caught  her  wrists  and  held  her. 

"You're  altogether  too  well  satisfied  with  yourself," 
he  said.  "You've  no  emotions  inside  your  very  lovely 
person  except  discreet  ones.  Otherwise,  you've  got  the 
devil  inside  you  and  it's  getting  on  my  nerves." 

"Jim  !    You  beast !" 

"Yes,  I  am.  What  of  it?  Beasts  have  emotions. 
Yours  have  either  been  cultivated  out  of  you  or  you 

269 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


were  born  without  any.  I'm  glad  I  am  part  beast.  I'm 
glad  you  know  it.  The  rest  of  me  is  human ;  and  the 
combination  isn't  a  very  serious  menace  to  civilization. 
But  the  sort  of  expurgated  girl  you  are  is !" 

"Don't  you  think  I'm  capable  of  any  deep  emotions?" 
she.  asked.  The  smile  had  died  on  her  lips. 

"Maybe.     I  don't  know." 

"Who  should,  if  you  don't?" 

He  shrugged: 

"Your  husband,  perhaps." 

"Jim !    I  told  you  not  to  call  him  that !" 

"Well,  a  spade  is  a  spade " 

"Do  you  mean  to  be  offensive?" 

"How  can  that  offend  you?" 

She  released  her  wrists  and  shot  a  curious,  inexplic- 
able look  at  him. 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  she  said.  "You  can  be 
so  .generous  and  high-minded  and  you  can  be  so  unkind 
and  insolent  to  me " 

"Insolent?" 

"Yes.  You  meant  it  insolently  when  you  spoke  of 
Oswald  as  my  husband.  You've  done  it  before,  too. 
Why  do  you?  Do  you  really  want  to  hurt  me?  Be- 
cause you  know  he  isn't  my  husband  except  by  title. 
He  may  never  be." 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "I'm  sorry  I  was  offensive. 
I'm  just  tired  of  this  mystery,  I  suppose.  It's  a  hope- 
less sort  of  affair  for  me.  I  can't  make  you  love  me; 
you're  married,  besides.  It's  too  much  for  me — I  can't 
cope  with  it,  Steve.  ...  So  I  won't  ever  bother  you 
again  with  importunities.  I'll  go  my  own  way." 

"Very  well,"  she  said  in  an  even  voice. 

She  nodded  to  him  and  went  out,  saying  as  she 
passed : 

270 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"There'll  be  tea  at  five,  if  you  care  for  any."  And 
left  him  planted. 

Which  presently  enraged  him,  and  he  began  to  pace 
the  studio,  pondering  on  the  cruelty,  insensibility  and 
injustice  of  that  devilish  sex  which  had  created  man  as 
a  convenience. 

"The  thing  to  do,"  he  said  savagely  to  himself,  "is 
to  exterminate  the  last  trace  of  love  for  her,  tear  it 
out,  uproot  it,  trample  on  it  without  remorse " 

The  studio  bell  rang.  He  walked  to  the  door  and 
opened  it.  A  bewilderingly  pretty  girl  stood  there. 

"Miss  Davis?"  she  inquired  sweetly.  "I  have  an  ap- 
pointment." 

"Come  in,"  said  Cleland,  the  flush  of  wrath  still  on 
his  countenance. 

The  girl  entered ;  he  offered  her  a  chair. 

"Miss  Davis  happens  to  be  out  at  the  moment,"  he 
said,  "but  I  don't  believe  she'll  be  very  long." 

"Do  you  mind  my  waiting?"  asked  the  pretty  girl. 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  said,  welcoming  diversion.  "Do 
you  mind  my  being  here?  Or  are  you  going  to  put  me 
out?" 

She  looked  surprised,  then  she  laughed  very  delight- 
fully: 

"Of  course  not.  Miss  Davis  and  I  have  known  each 
other  for  a  long  while,  and  I  owe  hep  a  great  deal  and 
I  am  devoted  to  her.  Do  you  think  I'd  be  likely  to 
banish  a  friend  of  hers?  Besides,  I'm  only  one  of  her 
models." 

"A  model?"  he  repeated.  "How  delightful!  I  also 
am  a  model — of  good  behaviour." 

They  both  laughed. 

"Does  it  pay?"  she  inquired  mischievously. 

"No,  it  doesn't.     I  wish  I  had  another  job." 

271 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Why  not  take  the  one  I've  just  left?" 

"What  was  it?" 

"I  was  dancing  at  the  Follies." 

"All  right.     Will  you  try  me  out?" 

"With  pleasure." 

"I'll  turn  on  that  music-box." 

The  girl  laughed  her  enchanting  little  laugh,  ap- 
praised him  at  a  glance,  then  turned  her  pretty  head 
and  critically  surveyed  the  studio. 

"I  believe,"  she  said,  "I'm  to  pose  for  Miss  Davis 
seated  on  a  winged  horse.  Isn't  that  exciting?" 

"You'd  be  delightful  on  a  winged  horse,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  suspect  it.     What  did  you  do  in  the  Follies?" 

"Nothing  very  interesting.  Have  you  seen  the  Fol- 
lies?" 

"You  ought  to  know  I  haven't,"  he  said  reproach- 
fully. "Do  you  suppose  I  could  have  forgotten 
you?" 

She  rose  and  dropped  him  a  Florodora  curtsey. 
They  were  getting  on  very  well.  She  glanced  demurely 
at  the  music  box.  He  jumped  up  and  turned  it  on. 
The  battered  disc  croaked  out  a  tango. 

"Shall  I  take  up  those  rugs?"  he  inquired. 

"What  on  earth  would  Miss  Davis  say  if  she  found 
us  dancing?" 

"She  isn't  here  to  say  anything.     Shall  I?" 

"Very  well.  .  .  .     I'll  help  you." 

They  dragged  the  rugs  aside. 

The  studio  was  all  golden  with  the  sun,  now,  and 
the  brilliant  rays  bathed  them  as  she  laid  her  gloved 
hand  in  his  and  his  arm  encircled  her  waist. 

She  was  a  wonderful  dancer;  her  supple  grace  and 
professional  perfection  enchanted  him. 

272 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


From  time  to  time  he  left  her  to  crank  up  the  music- 
box;  neither  of  them  tired.  Occasionally  she  glanced 
at  her  jewelled  wrist-watch  and  ventured  to  voice  her 
doubts  as  to  the  propriety  of  continuing  in  the  im- 
minence of  Miss  Davis's  return. 

"Then  let's  come  up  to  my  studio,"  he  said.  "I've 
a  music-phone  of  sorts.  We  can  dance  there  until 
you're  tired,  and  then  you  can  come  down  and  see 
Miss  Davis." 

She  demurred:  the  music-box  ran  down  with  a 
squawk. 

"Shall  we  take  one  more  chance  here?"  he  asked. 

"No,  it's  too  risky.  .  .  .  Shall  I  run  up  to  your 
place  for  just  one  little  dance?" 

"Come  on !"  he  said,  taking  her  hand. 

They  went  out  and  he  closed  the  door.  Then,  hand- 
in-hand,  laughing  like  a  pair  of  children,  they  sped  up 
the  stairs  and  arrived  breathless  before  his  door,  which 
he  unlocked.  And  in  another  minute  they  were  dancing 
again  while  a  scratched  record  croaked  out  a  fox- 
trot. 

"I  must  go,"  she  said,  resting  one  gloved  hand  on  his 
arm.  "I'd  love  to  stay  but  I  mustn't." 

"First,"  he  said,  "we'll  have  tea." 

"No !" 

But  presently  they  were  seated  on  his  desk,  a  plate 
of  sweet  biscuits  between  them,  their  glasses  of  sherry 
touching. 

"Unknown  but  fascinating  girl,"  he  said  gaily,  "I 
drink  to  your  health  and  fortune.  Never  shall  I  forget 
our  dance  together;  never  shall  I  forget  the  charming 
stranger  who  took  tea  with  me !" 

"Nor  shall  I  forget  you! — you  very  nice  boy,"  she 
said,  looking  at  him  with  smiling  intentness. 

278 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Would  it  spoil  if  we  saw  each  other  again?" 

"You  know  that  such  delightful  encounters  never 
bear  repetition,"  she  answered.  "Now  I'm  going.  Fare- 
well !" 

She  laughed  at  him,  touched  her  glass  with  her  lips, 
set  it  aside,  and  slipped  to  the  floor. 

"Good-bye!"  she  said.  He  caught  her  at  the  door, 
and  she  turned  and  looked  up  gravely. 

"Don't  spoil  it,"  she  whispered,  disengaging  her- 
self. 

So  he  released  her,  and  she  stretched  out  her  hand, 
smiled  at  him,  and  stepped  out.  The  music-phone  con- 
tinued to  play  gaily. 

A  girl  who  was  coming  upstairs  saw  her  as  she  left 
Cleland's  studio ;  and,  as  the  pretty  visitor  sped  lightly 
past  her,  the  girl  who  was  mounting  turned  and  watched 
her.  Then  she  resumed  her  ascent,  came  slowly  to  Cle- 
land's open  door,  stood  there  resting  a  moment  as 
though  out  of  breath. 

Cleland,  replacing  the 'rugs,  glanced  up  and  caught 
sight  of  Stephanie ;  and  the  quick-  blood  burnt  his 
face. 

She  came  in  as  though  still  a  trifle  weary  from  the 
ascent.  Neither  spoke.  She  glanced  down  at  the  two 
empty  wine  glasses  on  his  desk,  saw  the  decanter,  the 
biscuits  and  cigarettes.  The  music-phone  was  expiring 
raucously. 

"Who  is  that  girl?"  she  asked  in  an  even,  colourless 
voice. 

"A  girl  I  met." 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  her  name?" 

"I — don't  know  it,"  he  said,  getting  redder. 

"Oh.     Shall  I  enlighten  you?" 

"Thank  you." 

274 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"She's  Mary  Cliff,  of  the  Follies.  I've  seen  her 
dance." 

"Really,"  he  said  carelessly. 

Stephanie  leaned  against  the  desk,  resting  one  hand 
on  it.  An  odd  sense  of  mental  fatigue  possessed  her; 
things  were  not  clear  in  her  mind;  she  was  not  very 
sure  of  what  she  was  saying: 

"I  came  up  to  say — that  I'm  sorry  we  quar- 
relled. .  .  .  I'm  sorry  now  that  I  came.  I'm  going  in 
a  moment.  .  .  .  You've  already  had  tea,  I  see.  So 
you  won't  care  for  any  more." 

After  a  flushed  silence,  he  said: 

"Did  you  have  a  successful  lesson,  Steve?" 

"I've  had  two — lessons.  Yes,  they  were  quite — suc- 
cessful." 

"You  seem  tired." 

"No."  She  turned  and  walked  to  the  door.  He 
opened  it  for  her  in  silence. 

"Good  night,"  she  said. 

"Good  night." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

CLELAND'S  unhappy  interpretation  of  the  epi- 
sode was  masculine  and  therefore  erroneous — 
the  interpretation  of  a  very  young  man  whose 
reverence  for  the  restless  sex  might  require  revision 
some  day  or  other  unless  he  died  exceedingly  young. 
For  he  concluded,  now,  that  he  had  thoroughly  dis- 
gusted Stephanie  Quest ;  first  by  his  vulgar  flirtation 
with  Lady  Button-eyes,  then  by  losing  his  temper  and 
admitting  to  her  his  own  odious  materialism ;  and, 
furthermore  and  flagrantly,  by  his  hideous  behaviour 
with  a  pretty  girl  whose  name  even  he  had  not  known 
when  he  entertained  her  at  his  impromptu  the-dansarit. 

He  saw  himself  quite  ruined  in  the  unemotional  grey 
eyes  of  a  girl  who,  herself,  was  so  coldly  aloof  from  the 
ignoble  emotions  lurking  ever  and  furtively  in  the  mas- 
culine animal. 

He  had  had  little  enough  chance  with  Stephanie, 
even  when  his  conduct  had  been  exemplary.  Now  he 
was  dreadfully  certain  that  his  chances  were  less  than 
none  at  all ;  that  he  had  done  himself  in.  What  had  he 
to  hope  of  her  now? 

To  this  unconventional  yet  proud,  pure-hearted  girl 
had  been  offered  the  very  horrid  spectacle  of  his  own 
bad  temper  and  reprehensible  behaviour.  And,  al- 
though there  had  been  no  actual  harm  in  it,  she  could 
never,  never  understand  or  forgive  it.  Never! 

Her  virginal  ears  had  been  insulted  by  the  cynical 

276 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


avowal  of  his  own  masculine  materialism.  Of  the  earth, 
earthy,  he  had  vaunted  himself  in  his  momentary  exas- 
peration— "of  humanity,  a  shamelessly  human  ex- 
ample." 

With  her  own  incredulous,  uncontaminated  eyes  she 
had  seen  him  pocket  Lady  Button-eye's  telephone  num- 
ber. Her  shrinking  ears  had  heard  the  mutilated  rec- 
ord in  his  music-phone  dying  out  in  a  tipsy  two-step ; 
her  outraged  gaze  had  beheld  a  perfectly  strange  young 
girl's  gaily  informal  exit  from  his  own  bachelor  apart- 
ment, where  sherry  still  stood  in  both  glasses  and  the 
rugs  lay  scattered  in  disorder  against  the  wall.  Elim- 
ination was  naturally  the  portion  he  had  to  expect. 
And  he  gloomily  schooled  himself  to  endure  annihila- 
tion. 

According  to  his  philosophy  there  was  nothing  else 
on  earth  to  do  about  it.  Doubtless  she'd  ultimately  for- 
give him,  but  her  respect  he  couldn't  hope  for  at 
present ;  and  as  for  any  deeper  sentiment,  if  ever  there 
had  been  any  hope  in  his  heart  that  he  might  one  day 
awaken  it,  now  he  knew  it  was  wriggling  in  its  death- 
throes,  making  him,  by  turns,  either  frightfully  un- 
happy or  resentfully  reckless. 

The  hopeless  part  of  it  was  that,  unlike  weaker 
men,  he  had  no  desire  to  drown  sorrow  in  any  irregular 
and  unworthy  fashion. 

Many  men  of  many  minds  turn  to  many  things  seek- 
ing the  anodyne  in  one  form  or  another — the  nepenthe 
of  forgetfulness,  rarer  than  the  philosopher's  stone. 

Neither  wine  nor  the  dreary  quest  for  heart-ease 
among  frailer  companions  ever  appeals  to  any  but  weak 
minds.  And  the  boy,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  turned 
to  his  work  with  a  renewed  energy  resembling  despera- 
tion. 

277 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


It  is  the  only  hope  for  ultimate  anesthesia. 

Also,  he  took  to  prowling  by  night,  being  too  un- 
happy to  remain  in  his  studio  so  near  to  Stephanie. 

He  prowled  about  Broadway  and  Long  Acre  with 
Badger  Spink,  whose  restless  cleverness  and  self-ab- 
sorption ended  by  wearying  him;  he  prowled  with 
Clarence  Verne  one  night,  encountering  that  strange 
sphinx  by  accident,  and  strolling  with  him  at  hazard 
through  the  purlieus  of  Chelsea.  Both  men  seemed 
deeply  preoccupied  with  problems  of  their  own,  and 
though  they  knew  each  other  only  slightly  they  main- 
tained the  reticence  of  intimacy — an  odd  assumption, 
as  Cleland  thought  afterward.  Yet,  one  of  them  was 
very  sick  for  love,  and  the  other  very  sick  of  it ;  and, 
besides,  there  roved  with  them  a  third  and  unseen  com- 
panion, through  the  crooked,  lamp-lit  streets,  whose 
shrouded  arm  was  linked  in  Verne's.  And  perhaps  that 
accounted  for  the  sombre  silence  which  brooded  be- 
tween these  men  in  trouble. 

Verne  said  at  parting — and  gazing  absently  at  noth- 
ing while  he  spoke : 

"The  tragedy  of  civilization — of  what  the  world  calls 
civilization! — that  is  the  most  terrible  of  all,  Cleland. 
That  is  the  real  and  only  hell.  Not  the  ruthless  erup- 
tions of  barbarism ;  not  the  momentary  resurgence  of 
atavistic  violence — of  red-blooded  rapine  and  lust — but 
the  ordered,  lawful,  stealthy,  subtle  horrors  of  civili- 
zation: they  slay  men's  souls." 

"I  don't  get  you,  Verne." 

"No,  Cleland.  But  somebody  else  will — somebody 
else  will  get  me — very  soon,  now.  .  .  .  Good-bye." 

A  few  days  later  Cleland  prowled  with  Harry  Belter, 
intent  upon  supper  somewhere  in  the  outer  marches  of 
the  town. 

278 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


For  an  episode  had  occurred  that  shook  them  both 
with  the  most  sobering  and  distressing  jar  that  youth 
experiences  in  fullest  mental  and  physical  vigour. 

"I  don't  see  how  a  man  can  kill  himself,"  said  Cle- 
land.  "I  don't  see  why  he  can't  go  somewhere  else  and 
cure  himself  of  his  unhappiness.  Travel,  change,  new 
faces " 

"Perhaps  he  wants  to  be  rid  of  faces,"  muttered 
Belter. 

"There  are  wonderful  wildernesses." 

"Perhaps  he's  too  tired  to  admire  'em.  Perhaps  he's 
half  dead  for  sleep." 

"You  talk  as  though  you  sympathized  and  under- 
stood, Harry." 

"I  do." 

"You!  The  indefatigable  optimist!  You,  the  ever- 
welcome,  the  gay  consoler,  the  irrepressible  spirit 
among  us!" 

"If  I  didn't  play  that  role  I'd  do  what  Clarence 
Verne  did!" 

"What!" 

"Long  ago,"  added  Belter. 

"For  God's  sake,  why?     I  never  dreamed " 

"You  were  away,  three  years,  having  a  good  time 
abroad,  weren't  you  ?  How  should  you  know  what  hap- 
pened to  others?" 

"Did  something  happen  to  you,  Harry?" 

"It  did.  If  you  wish  to  know  exactly  what,  I'll  tell 
you  what  happened  to  me  was  a  woman.  Now  you 
know  something  that  nobody  else  knows — except  that 
demon  and  myself." 

"But  such  things " 

"No.  Such  things  destroy,  ultimately.  I'll  die  of 
her,  one  day." 

279 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Nonsense !" 

But  Belter,  the  jester,  laughed  a  terrifying  laugh 
and  sauntered  into  the  open  door  of  the  restaurant 
which  they  had  walked  a  mile  or  two  to  find. 

"It's  a  low  pub,"  he  remarked,  "and  suitable  to  my 
mind."  They  seated  themselves  at  a  cherry  table. 
One  or  two  newspaper  men  nodded  to  Belter.  A  con- 
fidence man,  whispering  to  a  painted  mulatto  girl, 
turned  to  scrutinize  him ;  a  ruffianly  bar-keeper  saluted 
him  cordially. 

There  was  a  grill  glowing  beyond  the  bar.  A  waiter, 
chewing  a  tooth-pick,  came  up  and  stood  leaning  on 
their  table  with  both  hairy  hands  spread  flat  on  the 
polished  top. 

"Well,  gents,  what  is  it  ?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 

They  gave  their  order.  Then  Belter,  leaning  for- 
ward and  planting  both  elbows  on  the  table,  said  in  a 
low  voice: 

"They  call  me  a  caricaturist,  but,  by  God,  Cleland, 
I'm  a  realist !  I've  learned  more  about  women  by  cari- 
caturing them  than  I  ever  read  in  their  smooth  coun- 
tenances. They  are  caricatures,  in  their  secret  souls — 
every  one  of  them ;  and  when  I  exaggerate  a  weak  point 
and  ignore  everything  but  the  essential  character  lines 
and  contours,  by  jingo,  Cleland,  I've  discovered  'em — 
exposed  'em  as  they  really  are ! — distorted  caricatures 
of  human  beings." 

Cleland  disagreed  with  him,  gloomily,  amazed  at  his 
bitterness. 

"No,"  said  Belter,  "if  you  tell  the  mere  truth  about 
them  they're  a  nuisance !  We  don't  understand  'em. 
Why?  There's  very  little  to  understand  and  that's  all 
on  the  surface  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face! — 
too  plain  for  us  to  notice.  And  you  writers  explore 

280 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


and  dissect  'em,  seeking  deeps  where  there  are  shallows, 
mysteries  where  there  are  facts,  subtleties  where  every- 
thing is  obvious.  They  haven't  much  mind,  they  have 
few  traits  because  they  have  precious  little  character. 
They  are  not  like  humans ;  they  resemble  Fabre's  in- 
sects— strange,  incomprehensible  Martians,  doing 
things  not  from  intelligence,  not  from  reason,  impulse, 
desire,  but  merely  from  an  inherited  instinct  that  apes 
intelligence,  that  parodies  passion." 

"What  have  they  done  to  you,  Harry?" 

"Nothing,  in  years.  .  .  .  Because  I  won't  let  'em. 
But  the  spectacle  of  the  world  suddenly  crawling  with 
women,  all  swarming  restlessly  over  the  face  of  the 
globe,  not  knowing  why  or  whither — it  appalls  me,  Jim. 
And  we  men  continue  flinging  at  them  everything  we 
can  think  of  to  stop  them,  quiet  them,  and  keep  them 
still — personal  liberty,  franchise,  political  opportunity, 
professional  and  industrial  chances — and  still  they 
twist  and  wriggle  and  squirm  and  swarm  over  every- 
thing restlessly,  slowly  becoming  denatured,  unsexed, 
more  sterile,  more  selfish,  insolent,  intolerable  every 
day.  They  are  the  universal  nuisance  of  the  age ;  they 
are  slowly  smothering  us  as  shifting  dunes  threaten  the 
fertile  plain " 

"For  heaven's  sake " 

"There's  the  unvarnished  truth  about  woman,"  in- 
sisted Belter.  "She's  got  the  provocative  calinerie  of 
a  cat ;  the  casual  insouciance  of  a  sparrow ;  the  nest- 
ing and  hatching  instinct  of  the  hen;  the  mindless  jeal- 
ousy of  a  Pekingese. 

"The  creative  mind  that  marries  one  of  'em  is  doomed 
either  to  sterility  or  to  anguish.  Their  jealousy  and 
malice  stultify  and  slay  the  male  brain;  there  is  no 
arguing  with  them  because  they  have  no  real  mind  to 

281 


appeal  to,  no  logic,  no  reason.  Like  the  horrible  pray- 
ing Mantis  they  suffer  the  embrace  of  the  male  and  im- 
mediately begin  to  eat  him,  commencing  with  the 
head -" 

Cleland  began  to  laugh.  His  mirth,  unrestrained, 
did  not  disturb  Belter,  who  continued  to  eat  his  club 
sandwich  and  wash  it  down  with  huge  draughts  of 
Pilsner. 

"Do  you  think  I'd  marry  one  of  'em?"  he  demanded 
scornfully.  "Do  you  know  what  really  happened  to 
Clarence  Verne?" 

"No." 

"Well,  he  married  a  dainty  little  thing  and  expected 
to  continue  earning  two  thousand  dollars  for  every 
magazine  cover  he  designed.  And  do  you  know  what 
happened  ?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

"I'll  tell  you.  The  dainty  little  thing  turned  jeal- 
ous, hired  a  shyster  who  hired  detectives  to  follow 
Verne  about  and  report  to  her  what  he  did  inside  and 
outside  his  studio.  She  doped  his  food  when  she 
thought  he  had  a  rendezvous ;  she  had  his  letters  stolen. 
In  his  own  world,  any  woman  he  found  agreeable  was 
cut  out  by  his  wife;  if,  in  the  jolly  and  unconventional 
fellowship  of  Bohemia,  he  ever  stopped  on  the  street 
to  chat  with  a  pretty  girl  or  took  one,  harmlessly,  to 
lunch  or  supper,  or  offered  any  of  'em  tea  in  his  studio, 
her  detectives  reported  it  to  her  and  she  raised  hell. 

"It  killed  spontaneity,  any  gaiety  of  heart,  any  in- 
centive in  Verne.  It  embittered  him,  aged  him, 
strangled  him.  Look  at  his  work  to-day !  Nothing  re- 
mains except  the  mechanical  technique.  Look  at  the 
man.  Dead  in  his  bathroom.  Don't  talk  to  me  about 
women." 

282 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Why  didn't  he  divorce  her  if  he  knew  of  all  this  she 
was  doing?" 

"He  had  a  little  girl  to  think  of.  After  all,  Verne 
had  lived  his  life.  Better  snuff  it  out  that  way  and 
leave  the  child  in  decent  ignorance  of  family  dissen- 
sion. .  .  .  And  that  was  the  matter  with  Clarence 
Verne,  Cleland.  And  I  tell  you  that  into  the  heart  of 
every  man  who  has  been  fool  enough  to  marry,  some 
canker  is  eating  its  way.  There  is  not  one  woman  in  a 
million  with  mind  enough  and  humanity  enough  to  keep 
her  husband's  love — not  one  who  knows  enough  to 

'Let  him  alone 

And  he'll  come  home — ' 

Not  one  with  the  brains,  mental  resource,  wisdom,  to 
mate  without  becoming  a  parasite.  And  still,  all  over 
the  world  the  asses  are  solemnly  asking  each  other,  'Is 
marriage  a  failure?'  Bah!  The  world  makes  me  very 
sick !" 

They  went  to  Verne's  funeral  a  few  days  later.  The 
widow  was  very  pretty  in  her  deep  mourning.  Her  lit- 
tle girl  was  with  her. 

But  the  affair  was  not  even  a  nine-days'  gossip  in 
the  artists'  world.  Verne  had  stalked  wistfully  among 
them  for  a  few  years,  but  had  never  been  of  them  since 
his  marriage:  he  had  lived  at  home  in  one  of  the  fash- 
ionable quarters,  although  his  studio — and  his  heart — 
were  in  Chelsea. 

So  his  well-known  magazine  covers  were  missed  more 
than  he  was,  and  people  soon  ceased  discussing  him  and 
his  fate;  and  in  a  month  nobody  remembered  whether 
it  had  been  done  with  a  razor  or  a  revolver.  And  very 
few  cared. 

283 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


As  for  Cleland,  he  had  never  known  Verne  well,  and 
the  damnation  of  his  taking  off  affected  him  only  super- 
ficially. Besides,  busy  men  have  little  time  to  bother 
about  death ;  and  Cleland  was  now  extremely  busy  with 
his  novel,  which  began  to  take  definite  shape  and  pro- 
portion under  unremitting  labour. 

He  now  saw  Stephanie  much  as  usual;  and  the  girl 
did  not  seem  seriously  changed  toward  him  in  behav- 
iour. Her  spirits  appeared  to  be  high  always ;  she 
seemed  to  be  always  doing  something  interesting  and 
delightful,  dining  out,  going  to  theatres — though  the 
choice  was  now  limited,  as  many  were  already  closed 
for  the  summer — motoring  out  to  the  country,  tak- 
ing her  dancing  and  dramatic  lessons,  entertaining  in 
the  studio. 

It  is  true  that  he  seldom  or  never  saw  Stephanie 
alone  now,  but  that  seemed  accidental,  because  he  really 
had  been  absorbed  in  his  work  and  she  was  usually  out 
somewhere  or  other  during  the  day.  But  she  appeared 
to  be  cordial  to  him — just  as  full  of  gay  malice  and 
light  banter  as  ever — full  of  undisguised  interest  in  the 
progress  of  his  work  and  delighted  with  his  promise  to 
let  her  read  the  manuscript  when  it  was  typed  and 
before  he  submitted  it  to  any  publisher. 

So  all  seemed  to  go  serenely  between  them;  he  reso- 
lutely told  himself  that  he  had  given  her  up ;  she  did 
not  appear  to  be  aware  of  anything  altered  or  sub- 
dued in  his  cordiality  toward  her — apparently  missed 
nothing  in  his  attitude  that  might  once  have  been  to 
her  significant  of  any  deeper  feeling. 

Yet,  once  or  twice,  when  a  gay  company  filled  her 
studio,  amid  the  chatter  and  music  and  movement  of 
dancers,  he  became  aware  of  her  level,  grey  eyes  gravely 
intent  on  him — but  always  the  gravity  he  surprised  in 

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them  turned  to  a  quick,  frank  smile  when  his  gaze  en- 
countered hers,  and  she  always  made  him  some  pretty 
signal  of  recognition  across  the  animated  scene. 

As  for  Helen,  he  always  got  on  delightfully  with 
that  charming  and  capable  girl.  There  was  something 
very  engaging  about  her,  she  was  so  wholesome,  so 
energetic,  so  busy,  so  agreeable  to  look  at. 

He  had  acquired  a  habit  of  dropping  in  on  his  way 
out  to  lunch  to  watch  her  working  on  the  sketches  and 
studies  for  "Aspiration;"  but  one  day  she  forgot  to 
warn  him  and  he  blundered  into  the  courtyard  where, 
on  a  white  circus-horse,  a  lovely,  slender,  but  rather 
startling  figure  hid  its  face  in  its  hands  and  desper- 
ately attempted  to  make  a  garment  of  its  loosened  hair, 
while  an  elderly  female  holding  the  horse's  head  cried 
"Shoo !"  and  Helen  hustled  him  out,  a  little  perturbed 
and  intensely  amused. 

"I  ought  to  have  told  you,"  she  said.  "I  wouldn't 
mind,  but  even  professional  models  object  to  anybody 
except,  occasionally,  another  artist." 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  "Please  tell  little  Miss  Eve  that 
I  didn't  mean  to  scare  her." 

They  chatted  for  a  few  minutes,  then  Helen  smilingly 
excused  herself  and  went  back  to  her  work,  and  Cleland 
continued  on  his  way  to  lunch,  chagrined  at  his 
stupidity. 

"I  wonder,"  he  thought,  "if  that  was  my  little  un- 
known dancing  partner?  Now,  she  will  think  I've 
'spoiled  it  all.'  " 

He  was  in  masculine  error  again.  Disconcerted 
beauty  has  the  consolation  that  it  is  beautiful.  Other- 
wise, it  remains  merely  outraged  modesty ;  and  bitter- 
ness abides  in  its  soul. 

Helen,  laughingly  mentioning  the  affair  to  Stephanie, 

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still  immensely  amused  at  Cleland's  distress  and  apolo- 
getic blushes,  added  that  the  model,  Marie  Cliff,  had 
been  sensible  enough  to  appreciate  the  humour  of  it, 
too. 

"You  mean,"  said  Stephanie,  coldly,  "that  she  didn't 
care."  And,  not  smiling,  went  on  with  her  sewing. 

"She's  rather  a  refined  type,"  said  Helen,  looking 
curiously  at  the  girl  who,  bent  over  her  mending,  was 
plying  her  needle  furiously. 

Stephanie  shrugged. 

"Don't  you  think  so,  Steve?" 

"No.     I  think  her  typically  common." 

"How  odd !  She's  quite  young,  and  she's  really  very 
nice  and  modest — not  the  type  of  person  you  seem  to 
imagine " 

"I  don't  like  her,"  interrupted  Stephanie  calmly. 
But  her  slender  fingers  were  flying,  and  she  had  set  her 
teeth  in  her  under  lip,  which  had  trembled  a  little. 

Helen,  chancing  to  mention  Cleland  that  night  as 
they  were  preparing  for  bed,  was  astonished  at  Steph- 
anie's impatient  comment: 

"Oh,  Jim's  quite  spoiled.  I'm  rapidly  losing  inter- 
est in  that  young  man." 

"Why?"  asked  Helen,  surprised. 

"Because  he  runs  about  with  queer  people.  No  man 
can  do  that  and  not  show  it  in  his  own  manner." 

"What  people,  Steve?" 

"Well,  with  Lady  Button-eyes  for  one.  With  your 
modest  and  bashful  little  model,  for  another." 

"Does  he  ?"  Then  she  began  to  laugh.  "I'm  glad  he 
displays  good  taste,  anyway!  The  little  Cliff  girl  is 
charming." 

"Isn't  that  rather  a  horrid  and  cynical  thing  to 
say?"  demanded  Stephanie,  flushing  brightly. 

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THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Why?  I  think  she's  quite  all  right.  Let  them  play 
together  if  they  like.  It's  none  of  my  business.  Are 
you,  the  high-priestess  of  tolerance,  becoming  intol- 
erant?" she  added  laughingly. 

"No.  I  don't  care  what  he  does.  But  I  should  think 
he'd  prefer  to  frivol  with  one  of  his  own  class." 

"It's  a  matter  of  chance,"  remarked  Helen,  brush- 
ing out  her  curly  brown  hair.  "The  beggar-maid  or 
Vere-de-Vere — it's  all  the  same  to  a  man  if  the  girl  is 
sufficiently  attractive  and  amusing." 

"Amusing?"  repeated  Stephanie.  "That  is  a  humil- 
iating role — to  amuse  a  man." 

"If  a  girl  doesn't,  men  soon  neglect  her.  Men  go 
where  they  are  amused.  Everybody  does.  You  do.  I 
do.  Why  not?" 

Stephanie,  still  hotly  flushed,  shook  out  her  beauti- 
ful chestnut  hair  and  began  to  comb  it  viciously. 

"I  don't  see  how  a  common  person  can  amuse  a  well- 
born man,"  she  said. 

"It's  a  reflection  on  us  if  we  give  them  the  oppor- 
tunity," retorted  Helen,  laughing.  "But  if  we're  not 
clever  enough  to  hold  the  men  of  our  own  caste,  then 
they'll  certainly  go  elsewhere  for  their  amusement." 

"And  good  riddance!" 

"But  who's  to  replace  them?" 

"I  can  get  along  perfectly  without  men." 

"Steve,  you're  talking  like  a  child!  What  happens 
to  be  the  matter  with  you?  Has  anything  gone 
wrong?" 

"Absolutely  nothing "  She  turned  sharply;  her 

comb  caught  in  her  hair  and  she  jerked  it  free.  Per- 
haps that  accounted  for  the  sudden  glint  of  tears  in 
her  grey  eyes. 

Helen  slipped  her  arm  around  her,  but  the  girl's 

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THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


rigid  body  did  not  yield  and  she  kept  her  head  obstin- 
ately averted. 

"Are  you  getting  tired  of  your  idiotic  bargain  with 
Oswald?"  asked  Helen,  gently. 

"No,  I  am  not!  He  never  bothers  me — never  gets 
on  my  nerves — never  is  unjust — unkind " 

"Who  is?" 

"I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Men  in  general — annoy  me — 
men  in — general." 

"None  in  particular?" 

"No.  ...  It  isn't  very  agreeable  to  know  that  one's 
brother  goes  about  with  a  shameless  dancer  from  the 
Follies." 

"Are  you  sure  he  does  ?" 

"Perfectly.  He  gives  her  a  party  in  his  studio,  too, 
sometimes." 

"But  there's  no  harm  in " 

"A  party  for  two!    They  drink — together." 

"Oh." 

"They  drink  and  dance  and  eat,  all  by  themselves! 
They  take  up  the  rugs  and  turn  on  the  music  and — 
and  I  don't  know  what  they  do! — I — d-don't  know — I 
don't— I  don't !" 

Her  head  fell  into  her  hands ;  she  stood  rigid,  her 
body  shaken  by  emotions  too  unhappy,  too  new,  too 
vague  for  her  youthful  analysis. 

"I — I  can't  bear  to  think  of  him  that  way "  she 

stammered,  " — he  was  so  straight  and  clean — so 
clean " 

"Some  men  drift  a  little — sometimes " 

"They  say  so.  ...  I  don't  know.  I  am  too  miser- 
able about  him — too  unhappy " 

She  choked  back  a  sob,  and  the  slender  hands  that 
covered  her  eyes  slowly  clenched. 

288 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Helen  looked  at  her  in  consternation.  Girls  don't 
usually  betray  so  much  emotion  over  some  casual  ir- 
regularity of  a  brother. 

Stephanie  pressed  her  clenched  hands  mutely  against 
her  lids  for  a  while,  then,  her  lips  still  quivering,  she 
reached  for  her  brush  and  began  to  groom  her  splendid 
hair  again. 

And  Helen,  watching  her  without  a  word,  thought  to 
self: 

"She  behaves  as  though  she  were  falling  in  love  with 
him.  .  .  .  She'd  certainly  better  be  careful.  The  boy 
is  already  in  love  with  her,  no  matter  how  he  acts.  .  .  . 
If  she  isn't  very,  very  careful  she'll  get  into  trouble 
with  him." 

Aloud  she  said  cheerfully: 

"Steve,  dear,  I  really  think  I'm  clever  enough  to  have 
taken  the  measure  of  your  very  delightful  brother.  And 
I  honestly  don't  believe  it  is  in  him  to  play  fast  and 
loose  with  any  woman  ever  born." 

"He  is  doing  it !" 

"With  whom?" 

"That — dancing  girl " 

"Nonsense!  If  it's  an  ephemeral  romance,  which  I 
don't  believe,  it's  a  gay  and  harmless  one.  Don't  worry 
your  pretty  head  about  it,  Steve." 

After  Stephanie  was  in  bed  she  kissed  her  lightly, 
smiled  reassuringly,  switched  off  the  light  and  went  to 
her  own  room,  slowly. 

Very  gravely  she  braided  her  hair  before  the  mirror, 
looking  at  her  pale,  reflected  face. 

Yet,  though  pale,  it  was  still  a  fresh,  wholesome, 
beautiful  face.  But  the  brown  eyes  stared  sadly  at 
their  twin  brown  images,  and  the  girl  shook  her  head. 

For  the  nearest  that  Helen  Davis  had  ever  come  to 

289 


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falling  in  love  was  when  Cleland  first  walked  into  her 
studio.  She  could  have  fallen  in  love  with  him  then — 
within  the  minute — out  of  a  clear  sky.  She  realized  it 
after  he  had  gone — not  too  deeply  astonished — she, 
who  had  never  before  been  in  love,  recognized  its  pos- 
sibility all  in  a  moment. 

But  she  had  learned  to  hold  herself  in  check  since 
that  first,  abrupt  and  clear-minded  recognition  of  such 
a  possibility. 

Never  by  a  word  or  glance  had  she  ever  betrayed 
herself;  yet  his  very  nearness  to  her,  at  times,  set  her 
heart  beating,  set  a  faint  thrill  stealing  through  her. 
Yet  her  eyes  always  met  his  pleasantly,  frankly,  stead- 
ily ;  her  hand  lay  calm  and  cool  in  his  when  she  wel- 
comed him  or  bade  him  good-bye.  Always  she  schooled 
herself  to  withstand  what  threatened  her,  gave  it  no 
food  for  reflection,  no  sustenance,  no  status,  no  con- 
sideration. 

Love  came  as  no  friend  to  her.  She  soon  realized 
that.  And  she  quietly  faced  him  and  bade  him  keep 
his  distance. 

She  looked  at  herself  again  in  the  glass.  Her  brown 
eyes  were  very,  very  serious.  Then  the  smile  glim- 
mered. 

"Quand  meme,"  she  murmured  gaily,  and  switched 
off  the  light. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IT  was  a  warm  day  in  early  June  and  Cleland,  work- 
ing in  trousers  and  undershirt,  and  driven  by 
thirst  to  his  tin  ice-box,  discovered  it  to  be  empty. 

"Confound  it,"  he  muttered,  and  rang  up  Stephanie's 
studio.  A  maid  answered,  saying  that  Miss  Quest  had 
gone  motoring  and  Miss  Davis  had  not  yet  returned 
from  shopping. 

"I  want  to  borrow  a  lump  of  ice,"  explained  Cle- 
land. "I'll  come  down  for  it." 

So  he  concealed  his  lack  of  apparel  under  a  gay 
silk  dressing  gown,  picked  up  a  pan,  and  went  down, 
not  expecting  to  encounter  anybody. 

In  the  kitchenette,  in  the  rear,  the  obliging  maid  gave 
him  a  lump  of  ice.  Carrying  it  in  one  hand,  aloft,  as 
an  expert  waiter  carries  a  towering  tray  of  dishes,  and 
whistling  a  gay  air  with  great  content — for  his  work 
upstairs  had  gone  very  well  that  morning — he  saun- 
tered out  of  the  culinary  regions,  along  the  alley-like 
passageway,  into  the  studio. 

And  as  he  started  for  the  door  which  he  had  left 
ajar,  a  figure  opened  it  from  without  and  entered  hur- 
riedly— a  scared,  breathless  little  figure,  bare-footed, 
swathed  in  a  kimono  and  a  shock  of  hair. 

They  stared  at  each  other,  astonished.  Both  blushed 
furiously. 

"I  simply  can't  help  it,"  said  the  girl.  "I  was  sit- 
ting on  that  horse  waiting  for  Miss  Davis,  when  a  bee 

291 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


or  a  horsefly  or  something  stung  him  and  he  began  to 
rear  and  kick  all  around  the  court,  and  I  slid  off  him 
and  ran." 

They  both  laughed.  Cleland,  clutching  his  pan  of 
ice,  said: 

"I  seem  doomed  to  run  into  you  when  I  shouldn't. 
I'm  terribly  sorry." 

She  blushed  again  and  carefully  swathed  her  waist 
in  the  obi. 

"You  didn't  mean  to,"  she  said.  "It  was  rather  start- 
ling, though." 

"It  was,  indeed.  And  now  we're  having  another  un- 
conventional party.  Shall  I  leave  this  ice  here  and  go 
out  and  quiet  the  nag?" 

"He'll  surely  kick  you." 

"I'll  take  a  chance "  He  set  the  pan  of  ice  on 

a  table,  girded  up  his  dressing-gown,  and  went  out  into 
the  court.  The  horse  stood  quietly  enough  now.  But 
Cleland  soon  discovered  a  green-eyed  horsefly  squatting 
on  the  wall  and  rubbing  its  forelegs  together  in  devil- 
ish exultation. 

"I'll  fix  you,"  he  muttered,  picking  up  a  lump  of  wet 
clay  and  approaching  with  infinite  caution.  He  was  a 
good  shot;  he  buried  the  bloodthirsty  little  demon 
under  a  spatter  of  clay.  Then  he  went  back  for  his 
ice. 

"The  deed  is  done,"  he  said  cheerily.  "It  was  a 
horsefly,  as  you  said.  .  .  .  Good-bye.  .  .  .  When  are 
we  going  to  have  another  dance?" 

"We'd  better  not,"  she  said  smilingly.  She  had 
seated  herself  on  the  sofa  and  had  drawn  her  pretty, 
bare  feet  up  under  her  kimono. 

"You  won't  let  me  give  another  party  for  you?"  he 
inquired. 

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THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"I  ought  not  to." 

"But  will  you?" 

"I  don't  know.  This  kimono  party  we're  having 
now  seems  sufficient  for  the  present ;  and  I  think  you'd 
better  go." 

"Anyway,"  he  said,  "when  a  desire  for  innocent  rev- 
elling seizes  you,  you  know  where  to  go." 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

They  laughed  at  each  other. 

"Good-bye,  pretty  stranger,"  he  said. 

"Good-bye,  you  nice  boy!" 

So  he  went  away  upstairs  with  his  ice,  and  she  stole 
out  presently  and  ventured  into  the  courtyard 
where  the  placid  white  horse  stood  as  calmly  as  a 
cow. 

And  Stephanie,  lying  on  her  bed  in  her  own  room, 
twisted  her  body  in  anguish  and,  hands  clenched,  buried 
her  face  in  her  arms. 

Helen,  returning  an  hour  later,  and  glancing  into 
Stephanie's  bed-room  as  she  passed,  saw  the  girl  lying 
there. 

"I  thought  you  were  motoring!"  she  exclaimed. 

"The  car  is  laid  up,"  said  Stephanie,  in  a  muffled 
voice. 

"Oh.     Don't  you  feel  well,  Steve?" 

"N-not  very." 

"Can  I  do  anything?     Wait  a  moment "     She 

continued  on  to  her  bed-room,  unpinned  her  hat,  drew 
on  her  working  smock,  and  came  slowly  back,  buttoning 
it. 

"What's  wrong,  Steve?"  she  inquired. 

"Nothing,"  said  the  girl,  drearily.  "I'm  just — 
tired." 

"Why — you've    been     crying!"    murmured    Helen, 

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bending  over  her.     "What  is  making  you  so  unhappy, 
Steve?    Don't  you  wish  to  tell  me?" 

"N-no." 

"Shall  I  sit  here  by  you,  dear?  I  can  work  this 
afternoon " 

"No.  .  .   .     It's  nothing  at  all— truly  it  isn't." 

"Had  you  rather  be  alone?" 

"Yes." 

Helen  went  slowly  away  toward  the  court  where  her 
nag  and  its  rider  were  ready  for  her.  Stephanie  lay 
motionless,  dumb,  wretched,  her  bosom  throbbing  with 
emotions  too  powerful  for  her — yet  too  vague,  too 
blind,  to  enlighten  her. 

Unawakened  to  passion,  ignorant  of  it,  regardless 
and  disdainful  of  what  she  had  never  coped  with,  the 
mental  and  spiritual  suffering  was,  perhaps,  the 
keener. 

Humiliation  and  grief  that  she  was  no  longer  first 
and  alone  in  Cleland's  heart  and  mind  had  grown  into 
a  sorrow  deeper  than  she  knew,  deeper  than  she  admit- 
ted to  herself.  All  the  childish  and  pettier  emotions 
attended  it,  mocking  her  with  her  own  frailty — ignoble 
jealousy,  hard  resentment,  the  primitive  sarcasm  born 
of  envy — the  white  flash  of  hatred  for  those  to  whom 
this  man  turned  for  amusement — this  man  whom  she 
had  adored  from  boyhood. 

Why  had  he  cast  her  out  of  the  first  place  in  his 
heart  and  mind?  He  had  even  told  her  that  he  was  in 
love  with  her.  Why  had  he  turned  to  this  shameless 
dancer  ? 

And  to  what  others  did  he  also  turn  to  find  amuse- 
ment when  she  did  not  know  where  he  was? 

Had  it  been  her  fault?  No.  From  the  very  first 
night  that  he  had  come  back  to  her — in  the  very  face 

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of  her  happiness  to  have  him  again — he  had  shown  her 
what  kind  of  man  he  was — there  at  the  Ball  of  All  the 
Gods — with  that  dreadful  Goddess  of  Night. 

She  turned  feverishly,  tortured  by  her  thoughts, 
but  neither  they  nor  the  hot  pillow  gave  her  any  rest. 
They  stung  her  like  scorpions,  setting  every  nerve  on 
edge  with  something — anger,  perhaps — something  un- 
endurable there  in  the  silence  of  her  room. 

And  at  last  she  got  up  to  make  an  end  of  it,  once 
and  for  all.  But  the  preparations  took  her  some  time 
— some  cold  water,  brush  and  comb,  and  a  chamois  rag. 

Cleland,  now  dressed  for  luncheon,  humming  a  comic 
song  under  his  breath  and  contentedly  numbering  his 
latest  pencilled  pages,  heard  the  tap  at  his  open  door, 
and  looked  up  cherfully,  hoping  for  Marie  Cliff,  a 
pre-prandial  dance,  and  a  pretty  companion  at  lunch- 
eon. Tragedy  entered,  wearing  the  mask  of  Stephanie 
Quest. 

"Hello!"  he  cried  gaily,  jumping  up  and  coming  to- 
ward her.  "This  is  too  delightful.  Are  you  coming 
out  to  lunch  with  me,  Steve?" 

"Sit  down  a  moment,"  she  said.  But  he  continued 
to  stand;  and  she  came  over  and  stood  beside  his  desk, 
resting  one  hand  on  it. 

And,  after  a  moment,  lifting  her  grey  eyes  to  his: 

"I  have  borne  a  great  deal  from  you.  But  there  is 
an  insult  which  you  have  offered  me  to-day  that  I  shall 
not  endure  in  silence." 

"What  insult?"  he  demanded,  turning  red. 

"Making  my  studio  a  rendezvous  for  you  and  your 
— mistress !" 

He  knew  what  she  meant  instantly,  and  his  wrath 
blazed : 

"It  was  an  accident.     I  don't  know  how  you  heard 

295 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


of  it,  but  it  was  pure  accident.     Also,  that  is  a  rotten 
thing  to  say " 

"Is  it !  You  once  told  me  that  you  prefer  to  call  a 
spade  a  spade !  Oh,  Jim ! — you  were  clean  once.  What 
have  you  done!" 

"But  it's  a  lie — and  an  absurd  one!" 

"Do  you  think  that  of  me,  too — that  I  tell  lies?" 

"No.     But  you  evidently  believe  one." 

"It  is  too  obvious  to  doubt "     Her  throat  was 

dry  with  the  fierceness  of  her  emotions  and  she  choked 
a  moment. 

"Who  told  you?" 

"I  was  there." 

"Where?" 

"In  my  bed-room.  I  had  not  gone  out.  I  heard  the 
maid  tell  you  I  was  out  motoring.  I  meant  to  speak  to 
you — but  you  have  been  so — so  unfriendly  lately.  .  .  . 
And  then  that  woman  came  in!"  .  .  .  Her  grey  eyes 
fairly  blazed. 

"Why  do  you  do  this  to  me?"  she  cried,  clenching 
both  hands.  "It  is  wicked! — unthinkable!  Why  do 
you  hold  me  in  such  contempt?" 

Her  fierce  anger  silenced  him,  and  his  silence  lashed 
her  until  she  lost  her  head. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  offer  me  such  an  affront  in 
my  own  studio  because  I  am  really  not  your  sister? — 
because  your  name  is  Cleland  and  mine  is  not? — be- 
cause I  was  only  the  wretched,  starved,  maltreated  child 
of  drunken  parents  when  your  father  picked  me  out  of 
the  gutter!  Is  that  why  you  feel  at  liberty  to  affront 
me  under  my  own  roof — show  your  contempt  for  me? 
/*  it?" 

"Steve,  you  are  mad !"  he  said.  He  had  turned  very 
white. 

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THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"No,"  she  said,  "but  I'm  at  the  limit  of  endurance. 
I  can't  stand  it  any  longer.  I  shall  go  to-night  to  the 
man  I  married  and  live  with  him  and  find  a  shelter 

there — find  protection  and — f-forgetfulness "  Her 

voice  broke  but  her  eyes  were  the  more  brilliant  and 
dangerous  for  the  flashing  tears: 

"I  know  what  you  and  my  aunt  talked  over  between 
you,"  she  said.  "You  discussed  the  chances  of  my  de- 
veloping erratic,  unscrupulous,  morbid,  immoral  traits ! 
You  were  anxious  for  fear  I  had  inherited  them. 
Probably  now  you  think  I  have.  Think  as  you 

please !"  she  flashed  out  through  her  tears ;  "you 

have  killed  every  bit  of  happiness  in  me.  Remember  it 
some  day!" 

She  turned  to  go,  and  he  sprang  forward  to  detain 
her,  but  she  twisted  herself  out  of  his  arms  and  reeled 
back  against  the  desk. 

Then  he  had  her  in  his  arms  again,  and  she  stared 
at  his  white,  tense  face,  all  distorted  by  her  blinding 
tears : 

"I  love  you,  Steve !  That's  all  the  answer  I  give 
you.  That's  my  reply  to  your  folly.  I  never  loved 
anybody  else;  I  never  shall;  I  never  can.  I  am  clean. 
I  don't  know  how  it  happens,  but  I  am!  They  lie  who 
tell  you  anything  else.  I'm  like  my  father;  I  care  for 
only  one  woman.  I'm  incapable  of  caring  for  any 
other. 

"I  don't  know  what  I've  done  to  you  to  make  you 
say  such  things  and  think  them.  I  consider  you  as 
my  own  kin ;  I  respect  and  love  you  like  a  kinsman. 
But — God  help  me — I've  gone  further;  I  love  you  as 
a  lover.  I  can't  tear  you  out  of  my  heart;  I've  tried 
because  I  saw  no  hope  that  you  ever  could  fall  in  love 
with  me — but  I  couldn't  do  it — I  couldn't. 

297 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"If  you  go  to  the  man  you  married  I  shall  never  love 
any  other  woman.  That  is  the  truth,  and  I  know  it, 
now!" 

Her  body  was  still  rigid  in  his  arms ;  her  tense  hands 
lay  flat  on  his  breast  as  though  to  repulse  him. 

But  there  was  no  strength  in  them  and  they  had 
begun  to  tremble  under  the  hard  beating  of  his  heart. 

Her  mouth,  too,  was  quivering;  her  tear-wet  eyes 
looked  mutely  into  his ;  suddenly  her  body  relaxed, 
yielded ;  and  at  his  fierce  embrace  her  hot  mouth  melted 
against  his. 

"Steve,"  he  stammered — "Steve — can  you  care  for 
me — in  my  way ?" 

Under  the  deep-fringed  lids  her  grey  eyes  looked  at 
him  vaguely ;  her  lips  were  burning. 

"Steve "  he  whispered. 

Her  slowly  lifted  eyes  alone  responded. 

"Can  you  love  me?" 

Her  eyes  closed  again.  And  after  a  long  while  her 
lips  responded  delicately  to  his. 

"Is  it  love,  Steve?"  he  asked,  trembling. 

"I  don't  know.  .  .  .  I'm  so  tired — confused ': 

Her  arms  fell  from  his  neck  to  his  shoulders  and  she 
opened  her  eyes,  listlessly. 

"I  think  it — must  be,"  she  said.  .  .  .  "I'm  quite 
sure  it  is !" 

"Love?" 

"Yes." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

CLELAND,  tremendously  thrilled  and  excited  by 
the  first  but  faint  response  to  his  ardour  which 
he  had  ever  obtained  of  Stephanie,  but  uncer- 
tain, too,  and  almost  incredulous  as  to  its  significance 
and  duration,  retained  sufficient  common  sense  and  self- 
control  to  restrain  him  from  pressing  matters  further. 

For  Stephanie  seemed  so  listless,  so  confused,  so 
apparently  unable  to  comprehend  herself  and  these 
new  and  deep  emotions  which  threatened  her,  that  he 
forebore  to  seize  what  seemed  to  be  an  undue  ad- 
vantage. 

They  parted  very  quietly  at  her  studio  door;  she 
naively  admitting  physical  fatigue,  headache,  and  a 
natural  desire  to  be  down  in  her  darkened  room ;  he 
to  return  to  his  studio,  too  much  upset  to  work  or  to 
eat,  later,  when  the  dinner  hour  drew  near. 

However,  he  took  his  hat  and  stick  and  went  down 
stairs.  When  he  rang  at  her  studio,  Helen  admitted 
him,  saying  that  Stephanie  was  asleep  in  her  room  and 
had  not  desired  any  dinner.  So  they  chatted  for  a 
while,  and  then  Cleland  took  his  departure  and  walked 
slowly  up  the  street  toward  the  Rochambeau.  And 
the  first  person  he  met  on  University  Place  was  Marie 
Cliff. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  instinct  to  make  amends  to  her 
for  the  unjust  inferences  drawn  to  her  discredit  a  few 
hours  before — perhaps  it  was  the  sheer  excitement  and 

299 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


suddenly  renewed  hope  of  Stephanie  that  incited  him. 
Anyway,  his  gay  greeting  and  unfeigned  cordiality 
stirred  the  lonely  girl  to  response,  and  when  they  had 
walked  as  far  as  the  Beaux  Arts,  they  were  quite  in 
the  mood  to  dine  together. 

She  was  grateful  to  be  with  an  agreeable  man  whom 
she  liked  and  whom  she  could  trust ;  his  buoyant  spirits 
and  happy  excitement  were  grateful  for  somebody  on 
whom  they  could  be  vented. 

In  that  perfumed  tumult  of  music,  wine,  and  dancing 
they  seated  themselves,  greeted  cordially  by  Louis,  the 
courtly  and  incomparable;  and  they  dined  together 
luxuriously,  sometimes  rising  to  dance  between  courses, 
sometimes  joining  laughingly  in  a  gay  chorus  sus- 
tained by  the  orchestra,  sometimes,  with  elbows  on  the 
cloth  and  heads  together,  chattering  happily  of  nothing 
in  particular. 

Men  here  and  there  bowed  to  her  and  to  him; 
some  women  recognized  and  greeted  them ;  but  they 
were  having  much  too  good  and  too  irresponsible 
a  time  together  to  join  others  or  to  invite  ap- 
proaches. 

It  was  all  quite  harmless — a  few  moments'  pleasure 
without  other  significance  than  that  the  episode  had 
been  born  of  a  young  man's  high  spirits  and  a  young 
girl's  natural  relief  when  her  solitude  was  made  gay 
for  her  without  reproach. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock;  Marie,  wishing  to  be 
fresh  for  her  posing  in  the  morning,  reminded  him 
with  frank  regret  that  she  ought  to  go. 

"I  wouldn't  care,"  she  said,  "except  that  since  I've 
left  the  Follies  I  have  to  depend  on  what  I  earn  at 
Miss  Davis's  studio.  So  you  don't  mind,  do  you,  Mr. 
Cleland?" 

300 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"No,  of  course  not.     It's  been  fine,  hasn't  it?" 

"Yes.  I've  had  such  a  good  time ! — and  you  are  the 
nicest  of  men " 

Her  voice  halted ;  Cleland,  watching  her  with  smiling 
eyes,  saw  a  sudden  alteration  of  her  pretty  features. 
Then  he  turned  to  follow  her  fixed  gaze. 

"Hello,"  he  said,  "there's  Harry  Belter.  Are  you 
looking  at  him?" 

Her  face  had  grown  very  sober;  she  withdrew  her 
gaze  with  a  little  shrug  of  indifference,  now. 

"Yes,  I  was  looking  at  him,"  she  said  quietly. 

"I  didn't  know  you  knew  him." 

"Didn't  you?  .  .  .  Yes,  I  used  to  know  him." 

He  laughed: 

"The  recollection  doesn't  appear  to  be  very 
pleasant." 

"No." 

"Too  bad.  I  like  Belter.  He  and  I  were  at  school 
together.  He's  enormously  clever." 

She  remained  silent. 

"He  really  is.  And  he  is  an  awfully  good  fellow 
at  heart — a  little  pronounced,  a  trifle  tumultuous 
sometimes,  but " 

She  said,  evenly: 

"I  know  him  better  than  you  do,  Mr.  Cleland." 

"Really !" 

"Yes.  ...  I  married  him." 

Cleland  was  thunderstruck. 

"I  was  only  seventeen,"  she  said  calmly.  "I  was 
on  the  stage  at  the  time." 

"Good  Lord!"  he  murmured,  astounded. 

"He  never  spoke  of  it  to  you?" 

"Never!    I  never  dreamed " 

"/  did.  I  dreamed."  She  shrugged  her  shoulders 
801 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


again,  lightly.  "But — I  awoke  very  soon.  My  dream 
had  ended." 

"What  on  earth  was  the  matter?" 

"I  am  afraid  you  had  better  ask  him,"  she  replied 
gravely. 

"I  beg  your  pardon;  I  shouldn't  have  asked  that 
question  at  all!" 

"I  didn't  mind.  ...  It  is  my  tragedy — still.  But 
let  a  man  interpret  it  to  men.  A  woman  would  not 
be  understood." 

"Are  you — divorced?" 

"No." 

Cleland,  still  deeply  astonished,  looked  across  the 
room  at  Belter.  That  young  man,  very  red,  sat  listen- 
ing to  Badger  Spink's  interminable  chatter — pretend- 
ing to  listen;  but  his  disturbed  gaze  was  turned  from 
time  to  time  on  Marie  Cliff ;  and  became  hideously  stony 
when  it  shifted  to  Cleland  at  moments  without  a  sign 
of  recognition. 

"Shall  we  go?"  asked  the  girl  in  a  low  voice. 

They  rose.  A  similar  impulse  seemed  to  seize  Belter, 
and  he  got  up  almost  blindly  and  strode  across  the 
floor. 

'Cleland,  suddenly  confronted  at  the  door  of  the 
cloak-room,  from  which  Marie  was  just  emerging,  said: 

"Hello,  Harry,"  in  a  rather  embarrassed  manner. 

"Go  to  hell,"  replied  the  latter  in  a  low  voice  of 
concentrated  fury,  and  turned  on  his  wife. 

"Marie,"  he  said  unsteadily,  "may  I  speak  to  you?" 

"Certainly,  but  not  now,"  replied  the  girl,  who  had 
turned  white  as  a  sheet. 

Cleland  touched  the  man's  arm  which  was  trembling: 

"Better  not  interfere,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "The 
disgrace  of  a  row  will  be  yours,  not  your  wife's." 

302 


"What  are  you  doing  with  my  wife !"  whispered 
Belter,  his  voice  shaking  with  rage. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Harry.  I'm  showing  her  all  the  respect 
and  friendship  and  sympathy  that  there  is  in  me  to 
to  show  to  a  charming,  sincere  young  girl.  .  .  . 
You  know  the  sort  of  man  I  am.  You  ought  to  know 
your  wife  but  evidently  you  don't.  Therefore,  your 
question  is  superfluous." 

Belter  drew  him  abruptly  back  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs : 

"If  you're  lying  I'll  kill  you,"  he  said.  "Do  you 
understand?" 

"Yes.  And  if  you  make  any  yellow  scene  here, 
Harry,  after  I've  taken  your  wife  home,  I'll  come  back 
and  settle  you.  Do  you  understand?  .  .  .  For  God's 
sake,"  he  added  coldly,  "if  you've  got  any  breeding, 
show  it  now!" 

The  tense  silence  between  them  lasted  a  full  minute. 
Then,  very  slowly,  Belter  turned  toward  the  cloak-room 
where,  just  within  the  door,  his  wife  stood  looking  at 
him. 

His  sanguine  features  had  lost  all  their  colour  in 
the  greyish  pallour  that  suddenly  aged  him.  He  went 
toward  her :  she  made  the  slightest  movement  of  recoil, 
but  faced  him  calmly. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  in  a  voice  like  a  whisper.  "I 
am — the  fool  that  you — think  me.  .  .  .  I'll — take 
myself  off." 

He  bowed  to  her  pleasantly,  turned  and  passed 
Cleland  with  his  hat  still  in  his  hand: 

"I'm  sorry,  Jim ;  I  know  you're  all  right ;  and  I'm — 
r'l  \vrong  .  .  .  all  wrong " 

"Come  to  the  studio  to-morrow.  Will  you,  Harry?" 
whispered  Cleland. 

303 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


But  Belter  shook  his  head,  continuing  on  his  way  to 
the  street. 

"I'll  expect  you,"  added  Cleland.  "Come  about 
noon !" 

The  other  made  no  sign  that  he  had  heard. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

STEPHANIE  was  awake  with  the  sparrows  the 
next  morning,  and  her  face  betrayed  not  a  trace 
of  the  pallour  and  fatigue  which  had  made  Helen 
a  little  anxious  when  she  came  into  the  studio  after  her 
interview  with  Cleland. 

"I  never  had  such  a  sleep  in  my  life !"  she  announced, 
sauntering  into  Helen's  room,  already  bathed  and 
dressed,  when  at  last  she  heard  the  latter's  bath  run- 
ning. "I  feel  about  sixteen,  Helen." 

"You  look  it,  dear.  What  was  the  matter  with  you 
last  night?  Jim  came  about  nine." 

"Did  he?"  said  the  girl,  turning  to  conceal  a  smile. 
"What  did  you  do  to  entertain  him." 

"Talked  about  you,"  said  Helen,  watching  her  where 
she  stood  at  the  sunny  window,  absently  pleating  the 
sash  curtains  between  idle  fingers. 

"Was  he  edified?" 

"He  seemed  to  be.  When  I  changed  the  subject  he 
went  away." 

Stephanie,  at  the  window,  suddenly  laughed  outright, 
but  her  back  remained  turned. 

"Men  are  funny,"  she  said. 

"Women  are  funnier,  Steve." 

"What!     Are  you  a  traitor  to  your  sex?" 

"Sometimes,"  said  Helen,  absently.  "I  feel  that  my 
sex  betrays  me — and  a  few  others  of  my  own  mind." 

Stephanie  turned  and  looked  at  her,  still  laughing: 

305 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Like  the  Kiltie,"  she  said,  "you  complain  that  the 
rest  of  the  regiment  is  marching  out  of  step  with  you." 

"There's  only  a  corporal's  guard  of  us  in  step  to 
the  music,"  smiled  Helen.  .  .  .  "You're  looking  radi- 
ant, Steve !  I've  never  seen  you  as  enchanting." 

"I  feel  like  enchanting  the  world — like  a  sorceress  all 
ready  for  business.  .  .  .  This  is  a  wonderful  day, 
Helen." 

"What  are  your  engagements?" 

"Two  lessons  this  morning.  ...  I  don't  know 
whether  I'll  go.  Luncheon  with  Oswald  at  Tinto's. 
But  it's  so  stuffy  there  in  June,  and  the  summer  garden 
is  so  grubby." 

"You're  not  going,  then?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  his  feelings," 
said  the  girl,  reluctantly. 

Helen  sat  up,  flung  off  the  bed  clothes,  and  swung 
her  superb  young  body  out  of  bed. 

"My  bath's  running  over.  Sit  there  and  talk, 
Steve " 

But  Stephanie  turned  to  the  window,  her  lips  still 
edged  with  the  same  indefinable  smile,  and  gazed  at 
space  through  the  netted  squares  of  sunshine. 

Breakfast  was  served  in  the  studio  presently.  Helen 
joined  her  in  bathrobe  and  slippers,  knotting  the  belt 
around  her  waist. 

"I'm  wonderfully  hungry,"  exclaimed  Stephanie. 

"It's  more  than  you've  been  for  several  weeks, 
Steve." 

Again  the  girl  laughed,  not  meeting  Helen's  glance. 

"What  do  you  think  of  marriage?"  she  inquired 
presently.  "I  hope  you  haven't  the  very  horrid  ideas 
of  Harry  Belter." 

"What  are  Harry's  ideas?" 

306 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"He  says  it's  the  curse  of  civilization,"  said 
Stephanie,  "and  the  invention  of  meddlesome  and 
superstitious  imbeciles.  He  says  that  the  impulse 
toward  procreation  is  mechanical  and  involuntary,  and 
ought  to  be  considered  so  without  further  personal 
responsibility;  and  that  the  State  should  nourish  and 
educate  whatever  children  were  worth  saving  to  re- 
plenish the  waste,  and  put  the  others  out  of  the  way." 

"Harry,"  remarked  Helen,  "talks  for  talking's  sake 
very  often." 

"He's  quite  serious.  His  ideas  are  revolting.  Never 
have  I  known  a  man  who  is  so  savagely  an  iconoclast  as 
Harry  Belter." 

Helen  smiled. 

"Harry  is  a  talker,  dear.  He  doesn't  believe  a  word 
of  it.  Harry  Belter  is,  by  nature,  a  fat,  happy,  witty, 
clever  and  very  sentimental  young  man  who  also  is  so 
overwhelmingly  selfish  that  anything  which  happens  to 
annoy  him  he  considers  a  cataclysmic  catastrophe  in- 
volving the  entire  civilized  world  in  ruin!" 

"What!" 

"Do  you  wish  to  know  what  really  is  the  matter 
with  Harry  Belter?  Shall  I  tell  you  what  actually  has 
inspired  this  noisy  iconoclast  and  moral  anarchist  with 
the  urge  for  talking?" 

"I'd  like  to  know." 

"I'll  tell  you.  Three  years  ago  he  married  a  child 
of  seventeen  and  started  to  mould  her  to  suit  himself. 
The  only  trouble  was  that  she  had  a  mind.  She  knew 
what  she  wanted  to  do  and  to  be.  She  could  not  under- 
stand why  this  was  incompatible  with  being  his  wife, 
especially  as  he  had  won  her  by  his  loudly  reiterated 
advocation  of  personal  liberty  and  the  fundamental 
necessity  for  the  development  of  individualism." 

307 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"How  do  you  know  this?" 

"She  told  me." 

"When?" 

"Three  years  ago." 

"Who  is  she,  Helen?" 

Helen  answered  pleasantly,  looking  into  the  curious 
grey  eyes: 

"Her  name,  on  the  stage,  is  Marie  Cliff.  I  have 
known  her  a  long  while  and  I  am  very  fond  of  her." 

Stephanie,  scarlet,  winced  under  her  faintly  humour- 
ous smile. 

"They  are  divorced,  then,"  she  managed  to  say. 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"She  has  never  given  him  any  cause,"  said  Helen, 
slowly.  "No  woman,  of  her  own  knowledge,  can  truly 
say  one  word  against  her  character ;  nor  can  any  man. 
She  merely  revolted  at  the  tyranny  he  attempted,  in 
the  guise  of  affection,  of  course.  She  refused  to  be 
deprived  of  the  liberty  to  think  and  act  as  she  chose. 
She  rejected  the  worn-out  conventions  with  which  he 
attempted  to  chain  her — this  apostle  of  personal  free- 
dom. She  cared  for  her  profession — he  married  her 
when  she  was  on  the  stage — and  she  resolutely  insisted 
on  her  liberty  to  continue  it. 

"The  result  was  a  family  smash — her  return  to  the 
stage.  And  since  then  she  has  refused  to  accept  a 
penny  from  him  and  has  supported  herself  by  her  pro- 
fession, and,  sometimes,  by  posing  for  artists. 

"And  that  is  the  real  story  of  Harry  Belter  and 
Marie  Cliff.  So  you  can  believe  as  much  as  you  choose 
of  his  views  on  matrimony." 

After  a  flushed  and  painful  silence,  Stephanie  said: 

"Do  you  believe  this  to  be  true?" 

308 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"If  one  woman  can  judge  and  understand  another, 
what  I  have  told  you  is  true,  Steve.  Long  ago  I  won 
the  child's  confidence.  She  told  me  this  quite  frankly, 
and  in  a  manner  which  makes  the  truth  of  it  unmis- 
takable. .  .  .  We  have  become  great  friends,  this  little 
dancer  and  I.  I  don't  think  I  ever  knew  a  simpler 
nature  or  a  more  transparently  honest  one.  .  .  .  And 
that  is  why  I  was  not  worried  at  any  little  ephemeral 
romance  that  might  amuse  the  child  with  Jim  Cleland. 
...  I  was  too  certain  of  them — both,"  she  added, 
looking  calmly  into  the  grey  eyes  that  winced  again 
and  fell  under  her  serene  gaze. 

"I'm  a  rotten  little  beast,"  said  Stephanie. 

"You're  very  feminine." 

"Oh,  Helen,  I'm  not.  I'm  a  rotter.  I  didn't  know 
it  was  in  me.  I  thought  I  was  above  such  things " 

"Nobody  is,  Steve,  until  they  make  the  effort.  High 
thinking  requires  more  than  a  natural  generosity  and 
sympathy — more  than  innate  sentiment.  It  is  an 
attainment;  and  there  is  none  without  effort.  And 
effort  sometimes  hurts." 

"I  want  to  speak  to  that  girl  when  she  comes  in," 
said  Stephanie.  "I  never  have;  I've  never  noticed  her 
at  all.  I  shall  ask  her  to  tea." 

Helen  laughed: 

"She'll  be  here  pretty  soon.  Of  course  you're  not 
supposed  to  know  about  Harry." 

"Of  course  not.  But  I'll  make  amends  for  my  in- 
civility. I  was  a  beast!  But — it's  confusing — and 
hard  for  a  girl  to  understand  when  a  girl  like  that  is 
so  unconventional  with  one's — one's " 

"Brother?"  suggested  Helen  drily. 

"Yes.  .  .  .  I'm  terribly  ashamed.  .  .  .  Does  Jim 
know  ?" 

309 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"About  Harry  Belter?  No.  I  don't  think  anybody 
does." 

"What  a  sham  that  man  is !"  exclaimed  Stephanie 
hotly. 

"No.  He's  a  typical  man,  dear.  Some  women  yield, 
some  resist;  that's  all.  And  the  man  never  has  the 
slightest  idea  that  he  is  tyrannizing.  If  you  tell  him 
that  he'll  be  amazed  and  furious.  He'll  point  out  to 
you  all  the  love  and  affection  and  solicitude  and  money 
he's  lavished  on  the  object  of  his  adoration;  he'll  por- 
tray for  you  her  obstinacy,  her  coldness,  her  shocking 
ingratitude  for  benefits  received.  He  really  believes 
himself  a  martyr. 

"Steve,  man's  idea  is  still  that  to  the  victor  belong 
the  spoils.  We  are  the  spoils  of  the  chase,  dear.  His 
conventions  were  made  to  contain  us  in  a  sort  of  game- 
preserve  before  capture;  cage  us  after  we  are  made 
prisoner.  His  laws  fetter  us ;  a  misstep  ruins  us ; 
irregularities  never  impair  him.  That  is  the  ancient 
view;  that,  still,  is  the  secret  view  of  man;  that  is  his 
inborn  conviction  regarding  us  and  himself.  .  .  .  And, 
very  slowly,  we  are  beginning  his  education." 

"I  didn't  know  you  felt  that  way,"  said  Stephanie. 

"I  do.  .  .  .  But  if  I  were  in  love" — she  laughed 
gaily — "I'd  be  inclined  to  take  my  chances  with  this 
monster  I  have  painted  for  you." 

"You  do  believe  in  marriage?" 

"What  else  is  there,  dear?  Harry's  piffle  means 
nothing  except  that  a  plucky  girl  has  begun  his  educa- 
tion, and  it  hurts.  I  don't  know  what  else  there  is  to 
take  the  place  of  marriage.  It's  the  parties  to  the 
contract  who  don't  understand  its  essence." 

"What  would  you  suggest?"  inquired  Stephanie 
curiously. 

310 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Education.  A  girl  should  be  brought  up  to  master 
some  trade  or  profession.  She  should  support  herself 
by  it.  She  should  never  go  to  her  husband  empty- 
handed  and  unable  to  support  herself. 

"If,  then,  under  the  mutual  marriage  contract,  her 
earning  capacity  be  necessarily  checked  by  child-birth, 
and  by  the  later  and  natural  demands  of  progeny, 
these  alone  should  temporarily  but  only  in  part  inter- 
rupt her  in  the  exercise  of  her  trade  or  profession. 
And  he  should  pay  for  them. 

'•*But  she  should  have  a  life  work  to  do  ;  and  so  should 
he,  MO  matter  how  ample  their  means.  Domestic  drudg- 
ery must  be  done  by  others  hired  for  the  purpose,  or 
else  by  themselves,  sharing  alike.  In  no  other  way 
that  I  see  can  marriage  remain  endurable." 

After  a  silence  Stephanie  said  naively: 

"I  haven't  any  trade  or  profession." 

"You  are  a  graduate  nurse." 

"Oh.     I  forgot.     That  is  comforting!" 

"Also  you  are  already  married." 

The  girl  looked  up  in  a  startled  way,  as  though  hear- 
ing this  information  for  the  first  time.  Helen  gazed 
gravely  into  the  troubled  grey  eyes: 

"Do  you  regret  it,  Steve?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  haven't  had  time  to  think  about 
it." 

"It's  high  time,  isn't  it?" 

"Y-yes.  .  .  .  I've  got  to  do  a — a  lot  of  thinking 
some  day,  I  suppose."  She  gazed  absently  into  space 
for  a  few  moments ;  then  again  the  faintest  of  smiles 
curved  her  lips  and  she  bent  her  head  and  remained 
very  still,  deep  in  reflection. 

.  .  .  "Did  you  wish  to  speak  to  Marie  Cliff?"  asked 
Helen,  breaking  the  prolonged  silence. 

311 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


The  girl  looked  up,  dim-eyed,  confused: 

"Yes." 

"I  think  she  just  went  into  the  court-yard." 

Stephanie's  wool-gathering  wits  returned ;  she 
sprang  up  and  walked  swiftly  out  to  the  court,  where 
the  white  horse  was  just  being  led  in  and  the  pretty 
dancer  stood  unpinning  her  hat. 

She  turned  when  Stephanie  entered,  and  the  girl  went 
up  to  her,  smilingly,  and  offered  her  hand. 

"Miss  Davis  will  be  here  in  a  few  moments,"  she 
said.  "I  thought  I'd  come  and  tell  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Marie  Cliff,  curiously. 

"Also,"  said  Stephanie,  "I  wanted  to  tell  you  how 
very  lovely  you  are  on  that  horse.  I  had  a  glimpse  of 
you  last  week,  and  you  were  too  enchanting!  No 
wonder  Helen's  study  is  so  exquisite." 

The  little  dancer  flushed  brightly.  Her  gloved  hand 
still  lay  lifelessly  in  Stephanie's,  who  had  retained  it; 
her  childish  eyes  asked  for  the  reason  of  this  kindness 
from  a  girl  who  had  never  noticed  her. 

Then,  reading  the  unuttered  question,  Stephanie 
blushed  too: 

"I'm  not  much  older  than  you  are,"  she  said,  "and 
I'm  not  nearly  as  sensible.  I've  been  rude  enough  to 
ignore  you.  Could  you  forgive  me  and  be  friends?" 

"Yes,"  said  Marie  Cliff. 

That  was  all  the  explanation  offered  or  asked. 

"Will  you  come  to  tea  at  five?" 

"I  should  like  to." 

"I'd  love  to  have  you.  And  if  it  doesn't  bore  yc.«, 
would  you  tell  me  something  about  your  very  beautiful 
profession?  You  see,  stage  dancing  fascinates  me,  and 
I'm  taking  lessons  and  I've  an  inclination  to  become  a 
professional." 

312 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"I'd  love  to  talk  about  it  with  you !"  said  Marie  Cliff 
impulsively.  "I'll  tell  you  everything  I  know  about  it. 
.  .  .  And  I  do  know  a  little,  because  I  have  been  on 
the  stage  since  I  was  a  child." 

"You're  one  now,"  said  Stephanie,  laughing,  " — an 
adorable  one!"  And  she  bent  and  kissed  the  little 
dancer  on  the  lips. 

"I'm  glad  we're  friends,"  she  said.  "Don't  forget 
five  o'clock." 

"N-no,"  said  Marie  Cliff  unsteadily. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

AT  five  o'clock  that  afternoon  Cleland,  working 
fiercely  on  his  manuscript  toward  a  climax  he 
had   not  planned  for  but  which,   suddenly  but 
logically  developing,  threatened  with  disaster  his  lead- 
ing lady  and  the  young  gentleman  playing  opposite, 
heard  a  step  on  the  threshold  of  his  open  door. 

"Hello,  Harry !"  he  said  with  a  friendly  but  vague 
wave  of  his  pencil — for  he  had  not  stepped  quite  clear 
of  the  story  in  which  he  had  been  living  among  peop^fe 
never  born — "I'd  rather  given  you  up.  Come  in  and 
close  the  door." 

"I  couldn't  keep  away,"  said  Belter  hoarsely. 

He  came  in  and  closed  the  door.  He  looked  even 
more  grey  and  haggard  than  he  had  the  night  before. 

"I  expected  you  this  morning,"  said  Cleland,  step- 
ping clear  of  his  story  now,  and  looking  very  soberly 
at  his  old  school-friend. 

"I  didn't  intend  to  come  at  all."  He  seated  himself 
in  the  chair  indicated.  "But  I  couldn't  keep  away." 

"You  look  about  all  in." 

"I  didn't  sleep." 

Cleland  got  up,  walked  to  the  ice-box,  knocked  off  a 
bit  of  ice  with  a  tack-hammer,  and  leisurely  constructed 
a  highball. 

"Here  you  are,  Harry.  I  can't;  I'm  working. 
There  are  cigars  by  your  elbow,  cigarettes,  too." 

Belter  looked  vacantly  at  the  iced  bracer,  then  he 
314 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


dropped  both  elbows  on  the  edge  of  the  desk  and  took 
his  drawn  face  between  his  hands. 

Cleland  began  to  pace  the  studio.  Presently  he 
halted  by  Belter's  chair. 

"Hell,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "cut  out  the  tragedy ! 
It's  good  enough  for  my  novel,  where  the  poor  devils  I 
write  about  have  to  do  what  I  make  'em.  But  you  and 
I  are  free  to  do  what  we  choose." 

"Yes.  .  .  .  And  I've  done  it.  ...  I've  done  what  I 
chose.  Where  has  it  landed  me,  Cleland?" 

He  looked  at  the  frosty  glass,  pushed  it  away  from 
him: 

"That  was  a  sorry  spectacle  I  made  of  myself  last 
night.  Can  you  beat  that  for  degradation — a  man  who 
has  made  a  damnable  failure  of  marriage,  skulking  at 
his  wife's  heels  to  snap  and  snarl  at  any  decent  man 
who  is  civil  to  her?" 

"Don't  talk  so  bitterly " 

"I'm  indulging  in  a  luxury,  Cleland — the  luxury  of 
truth,  of  honesty,  of  straight  thinking.  .  .  .  I've  been 
bragging  about  it,  celebrating  it,  extolling  it  for  years. 
But  I  never  did  any  until  last  night." 

"You're  rubbing  it  in  pretty  hard,  Harry.  A  man 
is  bound  to  make  mistakes " 

"I'm  the  mistake!  I  realize  it,  now — as  Verne  real- 
ized it.  That's  why  he  did  what  he  did.  You  don't, 
if  you  are  right.  ...  I  never  supposed  I  could  behave 
as  rottenly  as  I  did  last  night.  But  it's  been  a  long 
strain.  .  .  .  You  heard  that  rotten  outbreak  of  mine 
concerning  women — the  night  we  heard  what  Verne  had 
done?  Well,  the  strain  was  showing.  ...  It  broke 
me  last  night.  .  .  ." 

He  lifted  his  head  and  looked  intently  at  Cleland: 

"It  was  the  shock  of  seeing  her  in  a  public  place 

815 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


with  another  man.  I  had  never  seen  her  with  any  other 
man.  It's  nearly  three  years,  now,  since  I  made  a 
damned  ass  of  myself,  and  she  very  quietly  went  her 
way  leaving  me  to  go  mine.  .  .  .  And  in  all  that  time, 
Cleland,  there  has  not  been  a  breath  of  suspicion  against 
her.  She  has  been  in  the  lighter  and  more  frivolous 
shows  almost  continuously;  but  she  has  lived  as 
straight  a  life  as  any  woman  ever  lived.  .  .  .  And  I 
know  it.  ...  And  I  knew  it — cur  that  I  was — when 
I  spoke  to  her  as  I  did,  and  turned  on  you  like  a 
rotter " 

He  extended  his  hand  and  took  hold  of  the  iced  glass, 
but  let  it  rest  there. 

"I've  lied  and  lied  and  lied,"  he  said,  "to  myself  about 
myself;  to  others  about  my  estimate  of  women.  .  .  . 
I'm  just  a  four-flusher,  Cleland.  The  best  of  'em  are 
better  than  our  stars.  The  remainder  average  as  well 
as  we  do.  .  .  .  Verne  got  what  was  coming  to  him. 
.  .  .  And  so  have  I,  Cleland — so  have  I " 

"Wait  a  moment " 

"Wait?"  Belter  laughed  mirthlessly.  "All  right. 
I  know  how  to  wait.  Waiting  is  the  best  thing  I  do. 
I've  waited  for  nearly  three  years  before  I've  told 
myself  the  truth.  I've  told  it  now,  to  myself,  and  to 
you.  .  .  .  But  it's  too  late  to  tell  it  to  her." 

"Do  you  think  it  is?" 

Belter  looked  up  in  pallid  surprise: 

"Of  course." 

"I  wonder,"  mused  Cleland. 

Belter's  sunken  gaze  had  become  remote  and  fixed 
again.  He  said,  half  to  himself: 

"I  couldn't  let  her  alone.  I  couldn't  learn  to  mind 
my  own  business.  I'd  been  bawling  aloud  my  theories 
for  years,  Cleland,  but  I  couldn't  appl}7  them  to  her  or 

316 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


to  myself.  I  bragged  about  my  mania  for  personal 
liberty,  for  tolerance;  I  lauded  the  maxim  of  'hands 
off.'  But  I  couldn't  keep  my  meddling  hands  off  her; 
I  couldn't  understand  that  she  had  the  right  to  per- 
sonal liberty — freedom  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness. 
No;  I  tried  to  head  her  off,  check  her,  stampede  her 
into  the  common  corral  whither  all  men's  wives  are  sup- 
posed to  be  driven — tried  to  rope  her  and  throw  her 
and  blindfold,  hobble  and  break  her  to  suit  myself.  .  .  . 
And,  Cleland,  do  you  know  what  happened?  I  found 
I  had  come  upon  a  character,  a  mind,  a  personality 
which  would  not  endure  the  tyranny  we  men  call  do- 
mestic affection.  .  .  .  That's  what  I  discovered.  .  .  . 
And  I  did  not  do  the  breaking.  No;  she  has  accom- 
plished that.  And — here  I  am,  to  admit  it  to  you. 
.  .  .  And  I  think  I'll  go,  now " 

Cleland  walked  slowly  to  the  door  with  him,  one  arm 
resting  on  his  shoulder: 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  her  what  you've  told  me,  Harry." 

"It's  too  late.     She  wouldn't  care,  now." 

"Are  you  very  sure?" 

"Do  you  think  a  man  can  use  a  woman  the  way  I 
have  used  her,  and  make  her  care  a  straw  about  what 
I  say  to  her  now?" 

Cleland  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"I  can't  answer  you.  I  don't  understand  women ; 
I  write  about  them.  ...  I  have  troubles  of  my  own, 
too.  So  I  can't  advise  you,  Harry.  .  .  .  Are  you 
still  in  love  with  her?" 

He  said  in  a  dead  voice: 

"I've  always  been.  It's  done  things  to  me.  I'll  die 
of  it,  one  day.  But  that's  no  argument." 

"I  don't  know.     Tell  her." 

"It's  no  argument,"  repeated  Belter.     "It's  purely 

817 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


selfish.  That's  what  I  am — purely  selfish.  I'm  think- 
ing of  myself.  I'm  in  love  with  her.  .  .  .  And  she's 
better  off  without  me." 

"All  the  same,  I  think  I'd  take  a  chance.  I  think 
I'd  tell  her.  After  all,  you  owe  her  that  much — what- 
ever she  may  choose  to  do  about  it." 

"She  doesn't  care,  now." 

"Still,  you  owe  it  to  her.  You're  not  a  welcher, 
you  know." 

They  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Helen, 
coming  out  of  the  enclosed  court,  met  them  face  to 
face ;  and  they  exchanged  amiabilities  there  outside  her 
studio  door. 

"Come  in  and  have  some  tea,"  she  said.  "Harry, 
you  look  ill.  Are  you?  Anyway,  a  cup  of  tea  won't 

slay  you  in  your  tracks "  fitting  her  key  to  the 

door  all  the  while  she  was  talking — "so  come  in  like  two 
polite  young  men " 

The  door  swung  open;  they  entered. 

"Oho !"  exclaimed  Helen ;  "Steve  must  be  here  be- 
cause the  kettle-lamp  is  lighted.  We'll  have  something 
to  nibble  presently,  I  expect.  Find  a  chair,  Harry, 
and  watch  that  kettle.  Jim,  show  him  the  cigarettes. 
I'm  going  to  take  off  this  blouse  and  I'll  be  back  with 
Steve  in  a  moment " 

She  stopped  short:  Stephanie  and  Marie  Cliff,  com- 
ing from  the  kitchenette,  appeared  at  the  further  end 
of  the  studio,  the  former  bearing  a  big  bowl  of  straw- 
berries, the  latter  a  tray  of  little  cakes. 

Stephanie  greeted  the  newcomers  with  an  airy  wave 
of  her  hand ;  Marie  Cliff  promptly  lost  her  colour ;  but 
there  was  nothing  to  do  except  to  advance,  which  she 
continued  doing,  moving  very  close  to  Stephanie's 
elbow. 

318 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


The  situation  was  going  to  be  as  awkward  as  the 
people  involved  made  it :  Cleland,  secretly  aghast,  came 
forward  to  relieve  Stephanie  and  Marie  of  their 
burdens : 

"If  there  isn't  enough  food  for  a  party,  I'll  take 
Harry  and  go,"  he  said  gaily.  "It  isn't  done — this 
grasshopper-like  invasion  of  your  natural  resources." 

"Piffle,"  said  Helen,  "there's  plenty." 

Harry  Belter,  who  had  been  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor  as  though  petrified,  wrenched  himself  out 
of  his  trance  and  put  his  legs  in  motion.  His  face 
was  very  red:  he  greeted  Stephanie  elaborately  but 
mutely ;  he  bowed  mutely  to  his  wife. 

She  had  managed  to. recover  her  self-control:  a  deep 
flush  invaded  her  pallour.  Then,  under  the  eyes  of 
them  all,  very  quietly  she  did  a  thing  which  confirmed 
the  admiration  and  respect  of  everybody  there:  she 
extended  her  child-like  hand  to  her  husband,  saying : 

"It  is  nice  to  see  you  again,  and  I'm  very  sure  that 
there  is  enough  tea  for  everybody." 

Her  hand  lay  in  her  husband's  for  an  appreciable 
moment ;  then  he  bent  over  it,  lower,  to  conceal  the 
nervous  working  of  his  features — and  touched  it  with 
trembling  lips — something  he  had  never  before  done  in 
fill  his  life — and  passing,  by  the  same  token,  out  of 
the  free  and  arid  desert  of  his  folly,  he  rested,  sub 
jugum,  beside  the  still  waters  of  eternal  truth. 

Helen  went  on  toward  her  room  to  shed  her  clay- 
stained  smock;  Stephanie  investigated  the  kettle  which 
was  approaching  the  boiling  point,  and  Cleland  depos- 
ited the  provender  on  a  neighbouring  table. 

"Keep  away  from  them,"  whispered  Stephanie,  close 
beside  him — so  close  that  the  fragrance  of  her  hair  and 
breath  caressed  his  cheek. 

319 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"You  darling,"  he  motioned  with  his  lips. 

"Oh,  dear !  Are  we  on  such  a  footing !"  she  asked, 
with  a  little  quick-drawn  breath  of  smiling  dis- 
may. 

"Why  not?"  he  said  under  his  breath.  "You're 
awake,  now." 

"Am  I?" 

"Are  you  not,  dearest?" 

"I — had  a  wonderful  sleep  last  night,"  she  said  per- 
versely. "I  don't  know  whether  I'm  awake  or  not." 

"Oh,  Steve! " 

"I  don't,  I  tell  you ! "  keeping  her  gaze  smilingly 

averted  and  very  busy  with  kettle  and  tea-caddy.  .  .  . 
"Where  have  you  been  all  day?" 

"I  came  down,  but  you  had  fled  to  your  lesson.  Then 
I  had  a  date  with  H.  Belter,  but  he  didn't  appear  until 
nearly  five.  It  was  a  strenuous  interview." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  full  of  interested  inquiry. 

"Yes,"  he  nodded;  "he's  found  out  he's  an  ass,  and 
he's  in  love  with  his  wife.  If  she  can  stand  for  him  now, 
after  these  three  years,  I  think  he'll  make  a  better  hus- 
band than  the  average." 

"She's  a  dear,"  murmured  Stephanie.  "What  a 
painful  situation  ! — but  wasn't  she  dignified  and  sweet  ? 
Oh,  I  do  hope  she  cares  enough  for  Harry  to  give  him 
another  chance.  .  .  .  Are  they  amiable  together  over 
there?  I  don't  want  to  turn  around." 

He  cautiously  surveyed  the  scene  out  of  a  corner 
of  his  eye: 

"She's  seated  beside  the  piano.  It's  evident  she 
hasn't  asked  him  to  be  seated.  They  are  horribly  seri- 
ous. He  looks  ten  years  older." 

"We  must  let  them  alone.  Tea  is  ready,  but  I 
sha'n't  say  so  until  they  move.  .  .  .  What  was  it  you 

320 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


asked  me,  Jim? — whether  I  am  awake?  .  .  .  Do  you 
know  that  I  believe  I'm  stirring  in  my  slumbers  be- 
cause— because,  now  and  then — just  for  an  instant — a 
stab  of  contrition  goes  through  and  through  me.  Do 
you  know  why?  I  have  a  glimmering  of  guilty  mis- 
giving concerning  this  painful  throb  of  conscience 

She  looked  about  her,  searching  among  the  parapher- 
nalia of  the  tea  tray.  "Oh,  the  deuce!  I  remember, 
now,  that  we're  out  of  lemons !  You  have  some,  haven't 
you  ?" 

"Yes,  I'll  run  up  and " 

"I  know  where  they  are  in  your  ice  box.  I'll  find 
them " 

"What  nonsense !    Wait ! " 

She  had  started  already;  but  swiftly  as  her  light 
feet  sped  he  overtook  her  on  the  stairs ;  gathered  her 
into  his  arms,  all  pink  and  breathing  rapidly: 

"Steve — my  darling! " 

"I  thought  you  might  do  this.  ...  I  wanted  to 
see " 

"What?" 

"Whether  it  could  happen  to  me  again — what  I  ex- 
perienced with  you " 

There  was  a  silence:  her  young  lips  melted  against 
his  ;  lingered ;  her  arms  tightened  around  his  neck.  And 
the  next  instant  she  had  freed  herself,  hot-cheeked,  dis- 
concerted. 

"Oh,  it  was — quite  true "  she  stammered,  resting 

against   the  banisters  with   one  hand  pressed  tightly 
over    her    heart.      "My    curiosity    is    satisfied.  .  .  . 
Please! — Jim,  dear — we  ought  to  behave  rationally — 
oughtn't  we?" 

But  she  did  not  resist  when  he  framed  her  face  be- 
tween his  hands ;  and  she  suffered  his  lips  again,  and 

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again  her  slight  response  and  the  grey  eyes  vaguely 
regarding  him  shook  his  self-control. 

"Will  you  try  to  love  me,  Steve?" 

"I  seem  to  be  doing  it." 

"Is  it  really  love,  Steve?  Do  you  truly  care  for 
me?" 

"Oh,  dear,  yes !"  she  said,  with  a  quick-drawn  breath 
which  ended  in  a  quiet  sigh,  scarcely  audible.  Then  a 
faintly  humorous  smile  dawned  in  her  eyes :  "You're 
changing,  Jim.  You  always  were  very  wonderful  to 
me,  but  you  also  were  mortal.  Now,  you're  changing; 
you  are  putting  on  a  glorious,  iridescent  immortality 
before  my  eyes.  I'm  quite  bewildered — quite  dazzled — 
and  my  mind  isn't  very  clear — especially  when  you 
kiss  me " 

"Are  you  making  fun  of  me?" 

"No,  I'm  not.  That's  the  way  with  the  gods  when 
they  start  a  love  affair  with  a  mortal  girl.  Some- 
times she  runs,  but  they  always  catch  her  or  turn  her 
into  a  tree  or  a  waterfall  or  something  they  can  acquire 
and  fence  in,  and  visit  like  a  plot  in  a  cemetery.  And 
if  she  doesn't  run  away,  then  she  just  falls  into  a  silly 
trance  with  her  Olympian  lover,  and  somebody  comes 
along  and  raises  the  dickens  with  them  both.  .  .  .  And 
now  I'd  like  to  know  what's  going  to  happen  to  me?" 

"You're  going  to  try  to  fall  in  love  with  me  first." 

"Oh.    And  then?" 

"Marry  me." 

"Oh.  And  what  will  old  lady  Civilization  say?  I 
told  you  somebody  would  raise  the  dickens !" 

"Who  cares?"  ' 

"I  suppose  I  wouldn't  care  if  I  loved  you  enough." 

"Will  you  try?" 

"Oh,     dear."  .  .  .  She     freed     herself     gracefully, 

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THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


stepped  back  a  stair  lower,  and  leaned  on  the  rail,  con- 
sidering. 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  repeated  under  her  breath.  "What 
a  tangle !  .  .  .  I  don't  know  why  I've  let  myself — care 
for  you — in  your  way.  I  ought  to  stop  it.  Could 
you  stand  it?"  she  added  naively.  And  the  reply  in 
his  eyes  scared  her. 

"Oh,  this  is  serious !"  she  murmured.  "We've 
gotten  on  much  further  than  I  realized.  ...  I  remem- 
ber, when  you  began  to  make  love  to  me,  I  thought  it 
very  sweet  and  boyish  of  you — to  fall  in  love  with  your 
own  sister.  But  I've  begun  to  make  love  to  you,  now. 
.  .  .  And  I  ought  not  to." 

"Because  you  are  married?"  he  asked  under  his 
breath. 

"Oh,  yes.  It  won't  do  for  me  to  make  advances 
to  you." 

"When  have  you  made  any  advances?" 

"I  came  out  here.  I  wanted  you  to — kiss  me.  Oh, 

this  isn't  going  to  do  at  all.  I  can  see  that,  now ! " 

She  framed  her  face  in  her  hands  and  shook  her  head. 
"Jim — dearest,  dearest  of  men — it  won't  do.  I  didn't 
realize  that  I  was  caring  for  you  in  this  way.  Why," 
she  added,  her  grey  eyes  widening,  "it  is  almost  dan- 
gerous !" 

"The  thing  to  do,"  he  said,  reddening,  "is  to  tell 
Oswald." 

"I  can't  tell  him!" 

"You've  got  to,  if  you  fall  in  love  with  me." 

"Oh,  Jim,  it  would  be  too  heartless !  You  don't 
know " 

"No,  I  don't !"  he  exclaimed  impatiently,  "and  I  think 
it's  time  I  did!  You  can't  be  in  love  with  two  men  at 
the  same  time." 

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THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


She  blushed  furiously: 

"I — he  never  even  touched  my  fingers  with  his  lips ! 
And  you — you  take  me  into  your  arms  with  no  more 
hesitation  than  if  I  were  a  child.  ...  I  believe  I've 
behaved  like  one  with  you.  I'm  old  enough  to  be 
ashamed,  and  I'm  beginning  to  be." 

"Is  it  because  you're  married?" 

"Yes,  it  is!  I  can't  let  myself  go.  I  can't  let  my- 
self care  for — for  what  you  do — to  me.  I  came  out 
here  to  give  you  the  chance — ready  to  learn  something 
— desiring  to.  I  mustn't  take  any  more  lessons — 
from  you." 

He  said: 

"I  am  going  to  tell  Oswald  that  I  care  for  you, 
Steve." 

To  his  astonishment,  tears  flashed  in  the  grey  eyes: 

"If  you  do,"  she  said,  "it  will  be  like  killing  some- 
thing that  makes  no  resistance.  It — it's  too  cruel — 
like  murder.  I — I  couldn't  bring  myself " 

"Why?     Did  you  marry  him  out  of  pity?" 

She  bit  her  lip  and  stood  staring  into  vacancy,  one 
hand  tightening  on  the  stair-rail,  the  other  worrying 
her  lips. 

"I  tell  you,"  she  said  slowly,  her  gaze  still  remote, 
"the  only  thing  to  do  is  to  do  nothing.  .  .  .  Because 
I'm  afraid.  ...  I  couldn't  bear  it.  I'd  have  to  think 
of  it  all  my  life  and  I — I  simply  couldn't  endure  it. 
.  .  .  You  mustn't  ask  me  any  more." 

"Very  well,"  he  said  coldly.  "And  I  think  we'd  bet- 
ter go  back  to  the  studio " 

As  he  passed  her  he  paused,  waiting  for  her  to  pre- 
cede him.  She  turned ;  her  hand  fell  from  the  banisters 
and  hung  beside  her;  but  the  slender  fingers  groped 
for  his,  slipped  among  them,  tightened,  drawing  him 

324 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


partly  toward  her ;  and  her  left  foot  moved  forward  a 
trifle,  blocking  his  way  and  bringing  them  closely  con- 
fronted. 

"I — love  you,"  she  faltered.  "And  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  about  it." 

Crushed  into  his  embrace  she  did  not  seem  to  know 
any  the  more  what  she  was  going  to  do  about  it.  Her 
flushed  cheek  lay  hot  against  his ;  her  hands  moved 
restlessly  on  his  shoulders ;  she  tried  to  think — strove 
to  consider,  to  see  what  it  was  that  lay  before  her — 
what  she  had  to  do  about  this  matter  of  falling  in  love. 
But  her  fast  beating  heart  told  her  nothing;  a  listless 
happiness  invaded  her ;  mind  and  body  yielded  to  the 
lethargy ;  thought  was  an  effort,  and  the  burden  lay 
with  this  wonderful  being  who  held  her  in  his  arms — 
who,  once  mortal — had  assumed  the  magic  of  immor- 
tality— this  youthful  god  who  was  once  a  man — her 
lover. 

"It's  got  to  come  right  somehow,  my  darling,"  he 
whispered. 

"Yes — somehow." 

"You'll  explain  it  some  day — so  that  I  shall  under- 
stand how  to  make  it  come  right." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  her  cheek  pressed  closer 
against  his. 

When  they  entered  the  studio  Helen,  seated  by  the 
tea  table,  rose  with  a  gesture  of  warning: 

"That  child  is  in  my  room  and  Harry  is  with  her. 
They  were  standing  together  over  there  by  the  piano 
when  I  came  out  of  my  room.  I  saw  at  once  that  she 
was  on  the  verge  of  something — she  tried  to  look  at 
me — tried  to  speak;  and  Harry  didn't  even  make  the 
effort.  So  I  said,  quite  casually,  'It  is  frightfully  close 

325 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


in  the  studio,  Marie.  But  you'll  find  it  cool  in  my 
room.  Better  lie  down  in  there  for  a  moment.'  .  .  . 
They're  in  there.  I  don't  know  what  I  hope,  exactly. 
She  is  such  a  dear.  .  .  .  Where  on  earth  have  you  two 
been?" 

"On  the  stairs,"  said  Stephanie.  "We  started  to 
get  something — what  was  it,  Jim?  Oh,  yes;  there's 
no  lemon  here " 

"Did  you  get  any?" 

"No;  we  just  conversed."  She  picked  up  a  ^cake, 
nibbled  it,  selected  a  strawberry  and  nibbled  that,  too. 

The  tea  wasn't  fresh,  but  she  sipped  it,  sitting  there 
very  silent  and  preoccupied  with  now  and  then  a  slow 
side-glance  at  her  lover,  who  was  attempting  to  make 
the  conversation  general. 

Helen  responded  lightly,  gaily,  maintaining  her  part 
in  a  new  and  ominous  situation  which  had  now  become 
perfectly  recognizable  to  her. 

For  these  two  people  on  either  side  of  her  had  per- 
fectly betrayed  themselves — this  silent,  flushed  girl, 
still  deep  under  the  spell  of  the  master  magic  of  the 
world — this  too  talkative,  too  plausible,  too  absent- 
minded  young  man  who  ate  whatever  was  handed  to 
him,  evidently  unaware  that  he  was  eating  anything, 
and  whose  eyes  continually  reverted  to  the  girl. 

The  smile  on  Helen's  lips  was  a  little  fixed,  perhaps, 
but  it  was  generous  and  sweet  and  untroubled.  A  man 
sat  at  her  elbow  whom  she  could  care  for,  if  she  let 
herself  go.  A  girl  sat  on  the  other  side  who  was  an- 
other man's  wife,  and  who  was  already  in  love  with 
this  man.  But  the  deep  anxiety  in  Helen's  heart  was 
not  visible  in  her  smile. 

"What  about  that  very  tragic  pair  in  my  room?" 
she  asked  at  last.  "Shall  we  clear  out  and  give  them 

326 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


the  whole  place  to  settle  it  in?  It's  getting  worse  than 
a  problem  play " 

She  looked  up ;  Oswald  Grismer  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  the  open  door. 

"Come  in!"  she  said  gaily.  "I'll  give  you  tea  in  a 
few  minutes." 

Grismer  came  forward,  saluted  her  with  easy  grace, 
greeted  Stephanie  with  that  amiable  ceremony  which 
discloses  closer  intimacy,  turned  to  Cleland  with  that 
wistful  cordiality  which  never  seemed  entirely  con- 
fident. 

"Oswald,"  said  Helen,  "there's  a  problem  play  being 
staged  in  my  bed-room." 

"Marie  Cliff  and  Harry  Belter,"  explained  Stephanie 
in  a  low  voice. 

Grismer  was  visibly  astonished. 

"That's  amusing,"  he  said  pleasantly. 

"Isn't  it?"  said  Helen.  "I  don't  know  whether  I'm 
pleased.  She's  such  a  little  brick!  And  Harry  has 
lived  as  he  pleased.  .  .  .  Oh,  Lord!  Men  are  queer. 
People  sneer  at  a  problem  play,  but  everybody  ever 
born  is  cast  for  some  typical  problem-play  part.  And 
sooner  or  later,  well  or  badly,  they  play  it." 

"Critics  talk  rot ;  why  expect  more  of  the  public  ?" 
inquired  Grismer.  "And  isn't  it  funny  what  a  row 
they  make  about  sex?  After  all,  that's  what  the  world 
is  composed  of,  two  sexes,  with  a  landscape  or  marine 
background.  What  else  is  there  to  write  about, 
Cleland?" 

The  latter  laughed: 

"It  merely  remains  a  matter  of  good  taste.  You 
sculptors  have  more  latitude  than  painters;  painters 
more  than  we  writers.  Pathology  should  be  used  spar- 
ingly in  fiction — all  sciences,  in  fact.  Like  a  clove  of 

327 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


garlic  applied  to  a  salad  bowl,  a  touch  of  science  is 
sufficient  to  flavour  art;  more  than  that  makes  it  reek. 
Better  cut  out  the  art  altogether  if  the  science  fasci- 
nates you,  and  be  the  author  of  'works'  instead  of  mere 
books." 

Stephanie,  watching  Cleland  while  he  was  speaking, 
nodded : 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "one  could  write  fiction  about  a  hos- 
pital nurse,  but  not  about  nursing.  It  wouldn't  have 
any  value." 

Grismer  said: 

"We're  really  very  limited  in  the  world.  We  have 
land  and  water,  sun  and  moon  and  stars,  two  sexes, 
love  and  hate  to  deal  with.  Everything  else  is  merely 
a  modification  of  these  elemental  fixtures.  ...  It  be- 
comes tiresome,  sometimes." 

"Oswald!  Don't  talk  like  a  silly  pessimist,"  said 
Stephanie  sharply. 

He  laughed  in  his  easy,  attractive  way  and  sat  gently 
swinging  one  long  leg,  which  was  crossed  over  the 
other. 

He  said: 

"There  is  in  every  living  and  articulated  thing  a 
nerve  which,  if  destroyed,  destroys  for  its  possessor  a 
certain  area  of  interest  in  life.  People  become  pessi- 
mists to  that  extent. 

"But,  where  all  the  nerves  converge  to  form  the 
vital  ganglion,  a  stroke  there  means  extermination." 

"Apropos  of  what  is  this  dissertation  wished  upon 
us?"  asked  Stephanie  with  an  uneasy  smile. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  paralyzed  spider,  Stephanie? — 
alive,  breathing,  destined  to  live  for  weeks,  perhaps,  and 
anyway  until  the  wasp's  egg  under  it  hatches  and 
becomes  a  larva  to  devour  it? 

328 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Well,  the  old  wasp  required  fresh  meat  for  its 
young,  so,  with  her  sting,  she  annihilated  the  nerve  con- 
trolling motion,  laid  her  egg,  certain  that  her  progeny 
would  find  perfectly  fresh  food  when  born.  But  if  she 
had  thrust  that  sting  of  hers  a  little  higher — at  the 
juncture  of  skull  and  thorax — death  would  have  taken 
that  spider  like  a  stroke  of  lightning." 

He  laughed: 

"So  I  say  it's  better  to  get  the  stroke  of  Fate  in 
the  neck  than  to  get  it  in  any  particular  area  and  live 
for  a  while  a  paralyzed  victim  for  some  creature  ulti- 
mately to  eat  alive." 

There  was  a  silence.  Helen  broke  it  with  pleasant 
decision : 

"This  is  not  an  appetizing  conversation.  If  anybody 
wishes  any  the  tea  is  ready." 

There  was  enough  daylight  left  in  the  studio  so  the 
lamps  remained  unlighted. 

"Do  you  suppose  we  ought  to  go  out  somewhere?" 
asked  Stephanie,  "and  leave  the  place  to  those  two 
poor  things  in  there?  You  know  they  may  be  too 
unhappy  or  too  embarrassed  to  come  out  and  run  the 
gauntlet." 

But  Stephanie  was  wrong;  for,  as  she  ended, 
Belter  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  studio  in  the  fad- 
ing light.  His  young  wife  came  slowly  forward  be- 
side him.  The  strain,  the  tension,  the  effort,  all  were 
visible,  but  the  girl  held  herself  erect  and  the  man 
fairly  so. 

There  was  tea  for  them — no  easier  way  to  mitigate 
their  ordeal.  Conversation  became  carelessly  general ; 
strawberries  and  little  cakes  were  tasted;  a  cigarette 
or  two  lighted. 

Then,  after  a  while  there  chanced  to  fall  a  silence; 

329 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


and  the  young  wife  knew  that  the  moment  belonged 
to  her. 

"I  think,"  she  said  in  a  distinct  but  still  little  voice, 
"that  we  ought  to  go  home.  If  you  are  ready, 
Harry " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

BY  the  end  of  the  first  week  in  June  Cleland  was 
in  a  highly  excited  state  of  mind  in  regard  to 
his  infant  novel,  in  which  all  the  principals  \vere 
now  on  the  edge  of  catastrophe. 

"I  don't  know  how  they  got  there,"  he  said  nervously 
to  Badger  Spink,  who  had  dropped  in  to  suggest  him- 
self as  illustrator  in  case  any  magazine  took  the  story 
for  serial  publication. 

Spink's  clever,  saturnine  features  remained  non- 
committal. If  Cleland  turned  out  to  be  a  coming  man, 
he  wished  to  participate  and  benefit ;  if  he  proved  a 
failure  he  desired  to  remain  pleasantly  aloof. 

For  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that  interested 
Badger  Spink  was  his  own  success  in  life;  and  he  had 
a  horror  of  contaminating  it  by  any  professional  asso- 
ciation with  mediocrity  or  failure. 

"What's  your  story  about?"  he  inquired  with  that 
bluntness  that  usually  passed  for  the  disinterested 
frankness  of  good  comradeship. 

"Oh,  it's  about  a  writer  of  stories,"  said  Cleland, 
vaguely. 

"He^'s  the  hero?" 

"If  you'd  call  him  that.  What  is  a  hero,  Spink? 
I  never  saw  one  in  real  life." 

Spink  squinted.     It  was  his  wa}'  of  grinning. 

"Well,  a  literary  hero,"  he  said,  "is  one  who  puts  it 
over  big  on  his  first  novel.  The  country  goes  crazy 

331 


about  his  book,  the  girls  go  crazy  over  him,  publishers 
go  panting  after  him  waving  wads ;  editors  flag  him 
with  fluttering  cheques.  That's  one  sort  of  hero, 
Cleland.  But  he's  a  myth.  The  real  thing  is  a  Charlie 
Chaplin.  All  the  same,  you'd  better  let  your  hero  make 
a  hit  with  his  novel.  If  you  don't,  good  night !" 

Cleland's  features  became  troubled: 

"I  suppose  his  book  ought  to  make  a  hit  to  make  my 
book  popular,"  he  said.  "But  as  a  matter  of  fact  it 
doesn't.  I'm  afraid  the  character  I've  drawn  is  no 
hero.  He's  like  us  all,  Spink ;  he  writes  a  book ;  friends 
flatter ;  critics  slam ;  the  public  buys  a  number  of 
copies,  and  it's  all  over  in  a  few  weeks.  A  punk  hero — 
what?" 

"Very.  He  won't  get  over  with  the  young  person," 
said  Spink.  "In  these  days  of  the  movie  and  the  tango 
nobody  becomes  very  much  excited  over  novels  any- 
way ;  and  if  you  don't  startle  the  country  with  your 
hero's  first  novel — make  it  the  sort  that  publishers 
advertise  as  'compelling'  and  'a  new  force  in  literature* 
— well,  you'll  get  the  hook,  I'm  afraid.  Listen  to  me: 
work  in  the  'urge';  make  it  plain  that  there's  not  a 
trace  of  'sex'  in  your  hero's  book  or  in  yours — or  any 
'problem*  either.  Cheeriness  does  it !  That  intellectual 
eunuch,  the  'Plain  Peepul,'  is  squatting  astride  of  the 
winged  broncho.  His  range  reaches  from  the  Western 
plains  to  the  New  England  kitchen.  The  odours  of 
the  hired  man  and  of  domestic  dishwater  are  his 
favourite  perfume;  his  heroines  smirk  when  Fate  jumps 
upon  them  with  hobnailed  boots ;  his  heroes  are  shaven 
as  blue  as  any  metropolitan  waiter  and  they  all  are 
bursting  out  of  their  blue  flannel  shirts  with  muscular 
development  and  abdominal  prosperity.  That's  the 
sort,  Cleland,  if  you  want  to  make  money!"  He 

332 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


shrugged  his  shoulders.  "But  of  course  if  you  don't, 
well,  then,  go  on  and  transmute  leaden  truth  with  your 
imagination  into  the  truer  metal  wrought  by  art.  If 
there's  a  story  in  it,  people  will  excuse  the  technical 
excellence;  if  there  isn't,  they  won't  read  it.  And 
there  you  are." 

They  remained  silent  for  a  while,  and  Spirik  regarded 
him  shrewdly  from  moment  to  moment  out  of  his 
bright,  bold  eyes.  And  he  came  pretty  close  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  was  wasting  time. 

"Did  you  ever  make  any  success  with  your  stuff!" 
he  inquired  abruptly. 

Cleland  shook  his  head. 

"Never  heard  anything  from  anything  you've  done?5' 

"Once,"  said  Cleland,  "a  woman  wrote  me  from  a 
hospital  that  she  had  read  a  novel  I  published  in  Eng- 
land, when  I  was  living  in  France.  .  .  .  She  said  it  had 
made  her  forget  pain.  .  .  .  It's  pleasant  to  get  a 
letter  like  that." 

"Very,"  said  Spink  drily,  "unless  she  meant  your 
book  was  an  anodyne."  He  laughed  his  abrupt,  harsh 
laugh  and  took  himself  off. 

Belter,  who  haunted  the  studio  now  toward  noon,  so 
that  he  could  take  his  wife  to  luncheon,  roared  with 
laughter  when  Cleland  mentioned  Spink's  visit. 

"When  there's  any  rumour  of  a  new  man  and  a  new 
book,  Spink's  always  certain  to  appear  out  of  a  cloud- 
less sky,  like  a  buzzard  investigating  smoke  for  pos- 
sible pickings.  If  you  make  good,  he'll  stick  to  you 
like  a  burdock  burr.  If  you  don't,  he's  too  busy  to 
bother  you.  So  he's  been  around,  has  he?" 

"Yes." 

"Watch  him,  Cleland.  Spink  is  the  harbinger  of 
prosperity.  He  associates  himself  only  with  the  fa- 

333 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


mous  and  successful.  He  is  clever,  immensely  indus- 
trious, many  sided,  diversely  talented.  He  can  write, 
rehearse  and  stage  a  play  for  the  Ten  Cent  Club;  he 
can  draw  acceptably  in  -any  medium;  he  can  write 
sparkling  stuff;  his  executive  ability  is  enormous,  Ijis 
energy  indefatigable.  But — that's  the  man,  Cleland. 
You'll  have  him  at  your  elbow  if  you  become  famous ; 
you'll  see  only  the  back  of  his  bushy  head  if  you  fail." 

Cleland  smiled  as  he  ran  over  the  pile  of  pencilled 
pages  on  the  desk  before  him,  pausing  here  and  there 
to  cross  out,  interline,  punctuate. 

"When  Oswald  Grismer  was  rich  and  promised  so 
well  as  a  sculptor,"  said  Belter,  "Spink  appeared  as 
usual  out  of  a  clear  sky,  alighted,  folded  his  wings, 
and  hopped  gravely  beside  Grismer  until  the  poor  devil 
came  his  cropper. 

"Now,  he's  always  going  somewhere  in  a  hurry  when 
he  encounters  Grismer,  but  his  'How  are  you!  Glad 
to  see  you!'  en  passant,  is  even  more  cordially  effusive 
than  before.  For  Badger  Spink  never  wittingly  makes 
an  enemy,  either." 

"Poor  Spink.  He  misses  a  lot,"  commented  Cleland, 
renumbering  some  loose  pages.  "Tell  me,  Harry,  how 
are  things  going  with  you?" 

Belter  said,  naively : 

"When  a  man's  quite  crazy  about  his  wife,  every- 
thing else  goes  well." 

Cleland  laughed: 

"That  sounds  convincing.  What  a  little  brick  she 
is !  I  suppose  you're  lunching  with  her." 

"Rather !"  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "God  knows," 
he  added,  "I  don't  want  to  bore  her,  but  it  would  take 
a  machine  gun  to  drive  me  away.  ...  I  tell  you, 
Cleland,  three  years  of  what  I  went  through  leave  scars 

334 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


that  never  entirely  heal.  ...  I  don't  yet  quite  see  how 
she  could  forgive  me." 

"Has  she?" 

"I'm  trying  to  understand  that  she  has.  I  know  she 
has,  because  she  says  so.  But  it's  hard  to  comprehend. 
.  .  .  She's  a  very,  very  wonderful  woman,  Cleland." 

"I  can  see  that." 

"And  whatever  she  wishes,  7  wish.  Whatever  she 
Desires  to  do  is  absolutely  all  right  because  she  desires 
it.  But,  do  you  know,  Cleland,  she's  sweet  enough  to 
ask  my  opinion  ?  Think  of  it ! — think  of  her  asking 
my  opinion ! — willing  to  consider  my  wishes  after  what 
I've  done  to  her!  I  tell  you  no  man  can  study  faith- 
fully enough,  minutely  enough,  the  character  of  the 
girl  he  loves.  I've  had  my  lesson — a  terrible  one.  I 
told  you  once  that  it  was  killing  me — would  end  me 
some  day.  It  would  have  if  she  had  not  held  out  her 
hand  to  me.  ...  It  was  the  finest,  noblest  thing  any 
woman  has  ever  done." 

All  fat  men  are  prone  to  nervous  emotion;  Belter 
got  up  briskly,  but  his  features  were  working,  and  he 
merely  waved  his  hand  in  adieu  and  galloped  off  down 
stairs  to  be  in  time  to  join  his  wife  when  she  emerged 
from  her  seance  with  the  white  circus  horse  in  Helen's 
outer  workshop. 

Cleland,  still  lingering  with  fluttering  solicitude  over 
his  manuscript,  heard  a  step  on  the  stair  and  Ste- 
phanie's fresh  young  voice  in  gay  derision : 

"You're  like  a  fussy  old  hen,  Jim!  Let  that  chick 
alone  and  take  me  somewhere  to  lunch !  I've  had  a 
strenuous  lesson  and  I'm  starved " 

She  dodged  his  demonstration,  eluding  him  with 
swift  grace,  and  put  the  desk  between  them. 

"No !    No!    I  chanced,  just  now,  to  witness  the  meet- 

335 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ing  of  the  Belters,  and  that  glimpse  of  conjugal  re- 
spectability has  stiffened  my  moral  backbone.  .  .  . 
Besides,  I'm  deeply  worried  about  you,  Jim." 

"About  me?" 

"Certainly.  It  fills  me  with  anxiety  that  you  should 
so  far  degrade  yourself  as  to  attempt  to  kiss  a  respect- 
able married  woman " 

She  dodged  again,  just  in  time,  but  he  vaulted  over 
the  desk  and  she  found  herself  imprisoned  in  his  arms. 

"I'll  submit  if  you  don't  rumple  me,"  she  said.  "I've 
such  a  darling  gown  on — be  very  circumspect, 
Jim " 

She  lifted  her  face  and  met  his  lips,  retained  them 
with  a  little  sigh,  placing  her  gloved  hands  behind  his 
head.  They  became  very  still,  very  serious ;  her  grey 
eyes  grew  vague  under  his  deep  gaze  which  caressed 
them ;  her  arms  drew  his  head  closer  to  her  face.  Then, 
very  slowly,  their  lips  parted,  and  she  laid  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder  and  drew  his  arm  around  her  waist. 

In  silence  they  paced  the  studio  for  a  while,  slowly, 
and  in  leisurely  step  with  each  other  deeply  pre- 
occupied. 

"Steve,"  he  said,  "it's  the  first  week  in  June.  The 
city  will  be  intolerable  in  a  fortnight.  Don't  you  think 
that  we  ought  to  open  Runner's  Rest?" 

"You  are  going  up  there  with  Oswald,  aren't  you?" 
she  asked,  raising  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  in  a  day  or  two.  Don't  you  think  we'd  better 
try  to  get  some  servants  and  open  the  house  for  the 
summer  ?" 

She  considered  the  matter: 

"You  know  I've  never  been  there  since  you  went 
abroad,  Jim.  I  believe  we  would  find  it  delightful. 
Don't  you?" 

336 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"I  do,  indeed." 

"But — is  it  going  to  be  all  right — just  you  and  I 
alone  there?  .  .  .  You  know  even  when  we  considered 
each  other  as  brother  and  sister  there  was  a  serious 
question  about  our  living  together  unless  an  older 
woman  were  installed" — she  laughed — "to  keep  us  in 
order.  It  was  silly,  then,  but — I  don't  know  whether 
it's  superfluous  now." 

"Would  Helen  come?" 

"Like  a  shot!  Of  course  that's  the  solution.  We 
can  have  parties,  too.  ...  I  wonder  what  is  going  to 
happen  to  us." 

"What !" 

"To  you  and  me,  Jim.  .  .  .  It's  becoming  such  a 
custom — your  arm  around  me  this  way;  and  that 
secret  and  deliciously  uneasy  thrill  I  feel  when  I  come 
to  you  alone — and  all  my  increasing  load  of  guilt " 

"There's  only  one  end  to  it,  Steve." 

"Jim,  I  can't  tell  him.  I'm  afraid!  .  .  .  Something 

happened  once.  ...  I  was  scarcely  eighteen " 

She  suddenly  clung  to  him,  pressing  her  face  convuls- 
ively against  his  shoulder.  He  could  feel  the  shiver 
passing  over  her. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said. 

"Not  now.  .  .  .  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  way 
of  letting  you  understand.  ...  I  was  not  yet  eighteen. 
I  never  dreamed  of — of  love — between  you  and  me.  .  .  . 
And  Oswald  fascinated  me.  He  does  now.  He  always 
will.  There  is  something  about  him  that  draws  me, 
influences  me,  stirs  me  deeply — deeply " 

She  turned,  looked  at  him,  flung  one  arm  around  his 
neck: 

"Will  you  let  me  tell  you  this  and  still  understand? 
It's  a — a  different  kind  of  affection.  .  .  .  But  it's 

337 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


deep,  powerful — there  are  bonds  that  hold  me — that  I 
can't  break — dare  not.  .  .  .  Always  he  was  attractive 
to  me — a  strange,  sensitive,  unhappy  boy.  .  .  .  And 
then — something  happened." 

"Will  you  tell  me  what?" 

"Oh,  Jim,  it  involves  a  question  of  honour.  ...  I 
can't  betray  confidence.  .  .  .  Let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing. Did  you  know  that  Oswald,  ever  since  you  and 
he  were  boys  together,  cared  more  for  your  good  opin- 
ion than  for  anything  else  in  the  world?" 

"That's  strange." 

"He  is  strange.  He  has  told  me  that,  as  a  boy,  one 
of  the  things  that  most  deeply  hurt  him  was  that  he 
was  never  invited  to  your  house.  And  I  can  see  that 
the  fact  that  dad  never  took  any  notice  of  his  father 
mortified  him  bitterly." 

"What  has  this  to  do  with  you  and  me,  Steve?" 

"A  great  deal,  unhappily.  The  seeds  of  tragedy 
lay  in  the  boy's  soul  of  Oswald  Grismer — a  tender  sen- 
sitiveness almost  girlish,  which  he  concealed  by  assert- 
iveness  and  an  apparent  callous  disregard  of  opinion ; 
a  pride  so  deep  that  in  the  shock  of  injury  it  became 
morbid.  .  .  .  But,  Jim,  deep  in  that  unhappy  boy's 
soul  lay  also  nobler  qualities — blind  loyalty,  the  gen- 
erosity that  costs  something — the  tenderness  that  re- 
nounces. .  .  .  Oh,  I  know — I  know.  I  was  only  a  girl 
and  I  didn't  understand.  I  was  fascinated  by  the 
golden,  graceful  youth  of  him — thrilled  by  the  deeper 
glimpse  of  that  mystery  which  attracts  all  women — the 
veiled  unhappiness  of  a  man's  secret  soul.  .  .  .  That 
drew  me ;  the  man,  revealed,  held  me.  ...  I  have  told 
you  that  I  never  dreamed  there  was  any  question  about 
vov-  I  was  obsessed,  wrapped  up  in  this  man  so  ad- 
mired, so  talented,  so  utterly  misunderstood  by  all  the 

b'33 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


world  excepting  me.  It  almost  intoxicated  me  to  know 
that  I  alone  knew  him — that  I  alone  was  qualified  to 
understand,  sympathize,  advise,  encourage,  rebuke  this 
strange,  inexplicable  golden  figure  about  whom  and 
whose  rising  talent  the  world  of  art  was  gossiping  and 
guessing  all  around  me." 

After  a  long  silence  he  said : 

"Is  tbat  all  you  have  to  tell  me?" 

"Nearly  all.  .  .  .  His  father  died.  .  .  .  My  aunt 
died.  These  facts  seem  unrelated.  But  they  were  not. 
.  .  .  And  then — then — Oswald  lost  his  money.  .  .  . 
Everything.  .  .  .  And  I — married  him.  .  .  .  There 
was  more  than  I  have  told  you.  ...  I  think  I  may  tell 
this — I  had  better  tell  you,  perhaps.  .  .  .  Did  you  ever 
know  that  my  aunt  employed  lawyers  to  investigate  the 
matter  concerning  the  money  belonging  to  Chiltern 
Grismer's  sister,  who  was  my  mother's  mother?" 

"No." 

"She  did.  I  have  seen  Mr.  Grismer  at  the  hospital 
once  or  twice.  He  came  to  see  my  aunt  in  regard  to 
the  investigation.  .  .  .  The  last  time  he  came,  my  aunt 
was  ill,  threatened  with  pneumonia.  I  saw  him  passing 
through  the  grounds.  He  looked  frightfully  haggard 
and  ill.  He  came  out  of  the  infirmary  where  my  aunt 
was,  in  about  an  hour,  and  walked  slowly  down  the 
gravel  path  as  though  he  were  in  a  daze.  .  .  .  He  died 
shortly  afterward.  .  .  .  And  then  my  aunt  died.  .  .  . 
And  Oswald  lost  his  money.  .  .  .  And  I — married 
him." 

"Is  that  all  you  can  tell  me?" 

After  a  silence  she  looked  up,  her  lip  quivering: 

"All  except  this."  And  she  put  her  arms  around 
his  neck  and  dropped  her  head  on  his  breast. 


I 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

N  reply  to  a  letter  of  hers,  Cleland  wrote  to 
Stephanie  the  middle  of  June  from  Runner's  Rest 
in  the  Berkshires : 


STEVE,  DEAR: 

The  place  is  charming  and  everything  is  ready  for  you 
and  Helen  whenever  you  care  to  come.  I  had  the  caretaker's 
wife  and  daughters  here  for  several  days'  scrubbing  and 
cleaning  woodwork,  windows  and  floors.  They've  put  a 
vacuum  cleaner  on  everything  else  and  the  house  shines! 

As  for  the  new  servants,  they  seem  the  usual  sort,  unap- 
preciative,  sure  to  quarrel  among  themselves,  fairly  efficient, 
incapable  of  gratitude,  and  likely  to  leave  you  in  the  lurch  if 
the  whim  seizes  them.  They've  all  come  to  me  with  com- 
plaints of  various  sorts.  The  average  servant  detests  clean, 
fresh  quarters  in  the  country  and  bitterly  misses  the  smelly 
and  oily  animation  of  the  metropolitan  slums. 

But  this  unpretentious  old  place  is  very  beautiful,  Steve. 
You  haven't  been  here  since  you  were  a  girl,  and  it  will  be  a 
surprise  to  you  to  find  how  really  lovely  are  .this  plain  old 
house  and  simple  grounds. 

Oswald  'has  made  several  sketches  of  -the  grounds,  and  is 
making  others  for  the  pool  and  fountain.  He  is  anything  but 
melancholy;  he  strolls  about  quite  happily  with  the  eternal 
cigarette  in  his  mouth  and  an  enormous  rose-scented  white 
peony  in  his  button-hole;  and  in  the  evening  he  -and  I  light 
a  fire  in  -the  library — for  the  evenings  are  a  trifle  chilly  still — 
and  we  read  or  chat  or  discuss  men  and  affairs  most  com- 
panionably.  The  occult  charm  in  this  man,  of  which  you 
are  so  conscious,  I  myself  can  perceive.  There  seems  to  be, 
deep  within  him,  an  inexplicable  quality  which  appeals — 

340 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


something  latent,  indefinable — something  that  you  suspect 
to  be  wistful,  yet  which  is  too  sensitive,  too  self-distrustful 
to  respond  to  the  very  sympathy  it  seems  to  draw. 

Steve,  I  have  asked  him  to  spend  July  with  us.  He  seemed 
quite  surprised  and  a  little  disconcerted  by  the  invitation — 
just  as  he  seemed  to  be  when  I  asked  him  to  do  the  pool  and 
fountain. 

He  said  he  would  like  to  come  if  he  could  arrange  it — 
whatever  that  may  mean.  So  it  was  left  that  way. 

Do  you  approve? 

It  will  be  wonderful  to  see  you  here,  moving  in  the  gar- 
den, standing  out  yonder  on  the  lawn! — Steve,  herself,  in 
her  own  actual  and  matchless  person! — Steve  in  the  flesh, 
here  under  the  green  old  trees  of  Runner's  Rest.  .  .  .  Some- 
times when  I  am  thinking  of  you — and  I  think  of  practically 
nothing  else! — I  seem  to  see  you  as  you  were  when  last  here 
— a  girl  in  ribbons  and  white,  dancing  over  the  lawn  with 
her  chestnut  hair  flying;  or  down  by  the  river  at  the  foot  of 
the  lawn,  wading  bare-legged,  fussing  and  poking  about 
among  the  stones;  or  lying  full-length  on  the  grass  under  the 
trees,  reading  "Quentin  Durward" — do  you  remember?  And 
I  used  to  take  you  trout-fishing  to  that  mysterious  Dunbar 
Brook  up  in  the  forest,  where  the  rush  of  ice-cold  waters  and 
the  spray  clouding  the  huge  round  bowlders  always  awed 
you  and  made  you  the  slightest  bit  uneasy. 

And  do  you  remember  the  brown  pools  behind  those  bowl- 
ders, where  you  cautiously  dropped  your  line;  and  the  sud- 
den scurry  of  a  black  shadow  in  the  pool — the  swift  tug, 
the  jerk  and  spatter  as  you  flung  a  speckled  trout  skyward 
in  mingled  joy  and  consternation? 

Runner's  Rest  has  not  changed.  House  and  barns  need 
paint;  the  garden  requires  your  soft  white  hands  to  caress 
it  into  charming  discipline;  the  house  needs  you;  the  lawns 
are  empty  without  you ;  the  noise  of  the  river  rippling  on  the 
shoals  sounds  lonely.  The  whole  place  needs  you,  Steve,  to 
make  it  logical.  And  so  do  I.  Because  all  this  has  no  mean- 
ing unless  the  soul  of  it  shows  through. 

When  I  am  perplexed,  restless,  impatient,  unhappy,  I  try 
to  remember  that  you  have  given  me  a  bit  of  your  heart; 
that  you  realize  you  have  mine  entire — every  atom  of  my 

341 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


love,  my  devotion.  .  .  .  There  must  be  some  way  for  us.  ... 
I  don't  know  what  way,  because  you  have  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  leave  me  blind.  But  I  shall  never  give  you  up — un- 
less you  find  that  you  care  more  for  another  man. 

And  now  to  answer  what  you  have  said  concerning  you 
and  me.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  touch  what  is,  theoretically, 
another  man's.  Yet,  you  do  not  belong  to  him.  And  you 
have  begun  to  fall  a  little  in  love  with  me,  haven't  you?  And 
in  this  incomprehensible  pact  it  was  agreed  that  you  retain 
your  liberty  until  you  came  to  final  decision  within  two 
years. 

I  don't  understand  it;  I  can't  feel  that,  under  the  strange 
circumstances,  I  am  unfair  to  you  or  to  this  strange  and 
unexplained  enigma  named  Oswald  Grismer. 

As  for  my  attitude  toward  him,  I  hope  I  am  free  of  the 
lesser  jealousy  and  resentments.  I  will  not  allow  myself  to 
brood  or  cherish  unworthy  malice.  I  am  trying  to  accept 
him,  with  all  his  evident  and  unusual  qualities,  as  a  man 
I've  got  to  fight  and  a  man  I  can't  help  liking  when  I  let  my- 
self judge  him  honestly. 

As  for  the  flimsy,  eccentric,  meaningless,  yet  legal  tie 
which  links  you  to  him,  I  care  nothing  about  it.  It's  got  to 
be  broken  ultimately — if  one  can  break  a  shadow  without 
substance. 

How  to  do  it  without  your  aid,  without  knowledge  of  the 
facts,  without  causing  you  distress  for  some  reason  not  ex- 
plained, I  don't  know.  But  sooner  or  later  I  shall  have  to 
know.  Because  all  this,  if  I  brood  on  it,  seems  a  nightmare — 
an  unreal  dream  where  I  struggle,  fettered,  blindfolded, 
against  the  unseen  and  unknown,  striving  to  win  my  way 
through  to  you. 

That  is  about  all  I  have  to  say,  Steve. 

Oswald  has  just  come  in  with  his  drawings,  to  find  me 
writing  to  you.  He  seems  very  cheerful.  His  design  is  de- 
lightful and  quite  in  keeping  with  the  simplicity  of  the  place 
— just  a  big,  circular  pool  made  out  of  native  stone,  and  in 
the  centre  a  jet  around  which  three  stone  trout  are  inter- 
twined under  a  tumbling  spray. 

It  is  charming  and  will  not  cfash  at  all  with  the  long,  low 

342 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


house  with  its  shutters  and  dormers  and  loop-holes,  and  the 
little  stone  forts  flanking  it. 

Telegraph  me  what  day  and  what  train.  And  tell  Helen 
you  and  she  may  bring  your  maid-of-all-work. 

JAMES  CLELAND,  in  love  with  you. 

There  was  no  need  of  a  fire  in  the  library  that  eve- 
ning at  Runner's  Rest.  The  night  was  mild;  a  mist 
bordered  the  rushing  river  and  stars  glimmered  high 
above  it. 

Every  great  tree  loomed  huge  and  dark  and  still,  the 
foliage  piled  up  fantastically  against  the  sky-line. 
There  was  an  odour  of  iris  in  the  night ;  and  silence, 
save  for  the  dull  stamping  of  horses  in  the  stable. 

Cleland,  deep  in  an  arm-chair  on  the  porch,  became 
aware  of  Grismer's  tall  shape  materializing  from  the 
fog  about  him. 

"It's  a  wonderful  place,  Cleland,"  he  said  with  a 
graceful,  inclusive  gesture.  "All  this  sweet,  vague 
mystery — this  delicate  grey  dark  appeals  to  me — satis- 
fies, rests  me.  .  .  .  As  though  this  were  the  abode  of 
the  Blessed  Shades,  and  I  were  of  them.  .  .  .  And  the 
rest  were  ended." 

He  seated  himself  near  the  other  and  gazed  toward 
the  mist  out  of  which  the  river's  muffled  roar  came  to 
them  in  ceaseless,  ghostly  melody. 

"Charon  waits  at  every  river,  they  say,"  he  re- 
marked, lighting  a  cigarette.  "I  fancy  he  must  employ 
a  canoe  down  there." 

"The  Iroquois  once  did.  The  war  trail  crossed  there. 
When  they  burned  Old  Deerfield  they  came  this  way." 

"The  name  of  your  quaint  and  squatty  old  house  is 
unusual,"  said  Grismer. 

"Runner's  Rest?  Yes,  in  the  Indian  wars  before  the 
Revolution,  the  Forest  Runners  could  find  food  and 

343 


shelter  here.  The  stone  forts  defended  it  and  it  was 
never  burned." 

"You  inherited  it?" 

"Yes.  It  belonged  to  a  Captain  Cleland  in  those 
remote  days." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  delicately  fresh 
odour  of  grey  iris  became  more  apparent — a  perfume 
that,  somehow,  Cleland  associated  with  Stephanie. 

Grismer  said  in  a  pleasant,  listless  voice: 

"You  are  a  happy  man,  Cleland." 

"Y-yes." 

"Here,  under  the  foliage  of  your  forefathers," 
mused  Grismer  aloud,  "you  should  rest  contented  that 
the  honour  of  an  honourable  line  lies  secure  in  your 
keeping." 

Cleland  laughed: 

"I  don't  know  how  honourable  they  were,  but  I've 
never  heard  of  any  actual  criminals  among  them." 

"That's  a  great  deal."  He  dropped  one  lean,  well- 
shaped  hand  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  The  cigarette 
burned  between  his  pendant  fingers,  spicing  the  air  with 
its  aromatic  scent. 

"It's  a  great  deal  to  have  a  clean  family  record," 
he  said  again.  "It  is  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world — 
the  most  desirable.  .  .  .  The  other  makes  existence 
superfluous." 

"You  mean  dishonour?" 

"Yes.  The  stain  spreads.  You  can't  stop  it.  It 
taints  the  generations  that  follow.  They  can't  escape." 

"That's  nonsense,"  said  Cleland.  "Because  a  man 
had  a  crook  for  a  forebear  he  isn't  a  crook  himself." 

"No.     But  the  stain  is  in  his  heart  and  brain." 

"That's  morbid !" 

"Maybe.  .  .  .  But,  Cleland,  there  are  people  whose 

344 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


most  intense  desire  is  to  be  respectable.  It  is  a  ruling 
passion,  inherent,  unreasoning,  vital  to  their  happiness 
and  peace  of  mind.  Did  you  know  that?" 

"I  suppose  I  can  imagine  such  a  person." 

"Yes.  I  suppose  such  a  person  is  not  normal.  In 
them,  hurt  pride  is  more  serious  than  a  wound  of  the 
flesh.  And  pride,  mortally  wounded,  means  to  them 
mental  and  finally  physical  death." 

"Such  a  person  is  abnormal  and  predestined  to  un- 
happiness,"  said  Cleland  impatiently. 

"Predestined,"  repeated  Grismer  in  his  pleasant, 
even  voice.  "Yes,  there's  something  wrong  with  them. 
But  they  are  born  so.  Nobody  knows  what  a  mental 
hell  they  endure.  Things  that  others  would  scarcely 
notice  they  shrink  from.  Their  souls  are  raw,  quiver- 
ing things  within  them  that  agonize  over  a  careless 
slight,  that  wither  under  disapproval,  that  become 
paralyzed  under  an  affront. 

"Their  fiercest,  deepest,  most  vital  desire  is  to  be 
welcomed,  approved,  respected.  Without  kindness 
they  become  deformed ;  and  crippled  pride  does  strange, 
perverse  things  to  their  brain  and  tongue. 

"There  are  such  people,  Cleland.  .  .  .  Pre- 
destined ...  to  suffering  and  to  annihilation.  .  .  . 
Weaklings  ...  all  heart  and  unprotected  nerves  .  .  . 
passing  their  brief  lives  in  desperate  and  grotesque  at- 
tempts to  conceal  what  they  are.  .  .  .  Superfluous 
people,  undesirable  .  .  .  foredoomed." 

He  dropped  his  cigarette  upon  the  drenched  grass, 
where  it  glimmered  an  instant  and  went  out. 

"Cleland,"  he  said  in  a  singularly  gentle  voice,  "I 
once  told  you  that  I  wished  you  well.  You  did  not 
understand.  Let  me  put  it  a  little  plainer.  ...  Is 
there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?  Is  there  anything  I 

345 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


can  refrain  from  doing  which  might  add  to  your  con- 
tentment?" ' 

"That's  an  odd  thing  to  ask,"  returned  the  other. 

"No.  It  is  merely  friendship  speaking — a  very  deep 
friendship,  if  you  can  understand  it." 

"You're  very  kind,  Grismer.  ...  I  don't  know 
quite  how  to  take  it — or  how  to  answer.  There  is  noth- 
ing that  you  can  do  for  me — nothing  one  man  could 
ask  of  another " 

"Ask  it,  all  the  same." 

"I  can't." 

"Then  I'll  offer  it.  ...  I  give  up — Stephanie — to 
you." 

The  silence  lasted  a  long  time.  Neither  man  stirred. 
Finally  Cleland  said  in  an  altered  voice: 

"I  can't  ask  it — unless  she  does,  too.  I  don't  know 
what  to  say  to  you,  Grismer,  except  that  no  man  ever 
spoke  more  nobly " 

"That  is  enough.  If  you  really  thinlT  it,  that  means 
everything,  Cleland.  .  .  .  And  this  is  my  chance  to 
tell  you  that  when  I — married  her — I  never  dreamed 
that  it  could  ever  be  a  question  of  you.  ...  I  don't 
believe  she  did,  either.  .  .  .  But  it  has  become  so. 
That  is  the  question,  now.  .  .  .  And  so  I — step  out." 

"I — I  tell  you  I  can't  accept — that  way — unless  she 
asks  it,  too,"  stammered  Cleland.  .  .  .  "After  all,  it's 
got  to  be  on  a  basis  of  her  happiness.  ...  I  am  not 
sure  that  her  happiness  lies  in  my  keeping.  I  do  not 
know  how  much  she  cares  for  you — how  deeply  you  are 
engaged  in  her  heart.  ...  I  can't  find  out.  .  .  .  I'm 
like  a  blind  man  involved  in  a  maze !" 

"She  cares  for  me,"  said  Grismer  in  his  low,  pleas- 
ant voice.  "We  have  been  intimate  in  mind — close  and 
responsive,  intellectually.  .  .  .  Sentimentally,  too. 

346 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


On  her  part  a  passionless  loyalty  to  whatever  in  me 
she  believed  appealed  to  her  intelligence  and  imagina- 
tion; an  emotional  solicitude  for  what  she  discovered 
in  me  that  aroused  her  sympathy " 

He  turned  and  looked  at  Cleland  in  the  darkness : 

"Hers  is  a  tender  heart,  Cleland.  Impulse  carries  it 
to  extremes.  Injustice  to  another  provokes  quick  ac- 
tion from  her ;  and  nothing  so  sways  her  as  her  intense 
sense  of  gratitude,  unless  it  be  her  fear  of  wounding 
others. 

"I  shall  have  to  tell  you  more,  some  day.  If  I  do, 
it  will  be  more  than  I  would  do  for  anybody  else  alive 
— the  ultimate  sacrifice  of  pride." 

He  rose  and  stood  gazing  out  across  the  mist  at  a 
far  star  above  it,  glimmering  with  dimmed  brilliancy 
all  alone. 

"It  couldn't  have  been,"  he  said,  half  to  himself.  "I 
always  knew  it.  Not  that  the  thought  of  you  ever 
crossed  my  mind.  I  knew  it  would  come  somehow.  It 
simply  couldn't  be." 

He  turned  to  Cleland  with  a  sudden  laugh  that 
sounded  light  and  natural: 

"This  is  to  be  no  tragedy.  It  will  disentangle  itself 
easily  and  simply.  I  am  very  sure  that  she  is  in  love 
with  you.  Tell  her  what  I  have  said  to  you.  .  .  .  And 
— good  night,  old  chap." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

STEPHANIE  and  Helen  arrived,  bringing  a  moun- 
tain of  baggage  and  the  studio  cat — an  animal 
evidently  unacquainted  with  the  larger  freedom  of 
outdoors,  and  having  no  cosmic  urge,  for  when  de- 
posited upon  the  lawn  it  fled  distracted,  and  remained 
all  day  upon  a  heap  of  coal  in  the  cellar,  glaring  im- 
movably upon  blandishment. 

"Oh!"  cried  Stephanie,  standing  on  the  lawn  and 
quite  enchanted  by  the  old  place.  "It  is  simply  too 
lovely !  It's  like  a  charming  doll's  house — it's  so  much 
smaller  than  I  remember  it !  Helen,  did  you  ever  see 
such  trees !  And  isn't  the  garden  a  dear !  Listen  to 
the  noise  of  the  river !  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  as 
refreshing  as  that  endless  rippling?  Where  is  Oswald, 
Jim?" 

"He  went  back  to  town  this  morning." 

"How  mean  of  him !" 

"I  tried  to  keep  him,"  said  Cleland,  "but  he  insisted 
that  it  was  really  a  matter  of  business.  And,  of  course, 
I  had  nothing  more  to  say." 

"Did  he  have  a  good  time  here?"  asked  Stephanie  in 
a  guileless  voice.  But  she  looked  sideways  at  him. 

"I  think  so,  Steve.  He  seemed  carefree  and  vastly 
contented  to  rove  over  the  place.  I  planned  to  go  with 
him  after  trout,  but  he  preferred  to  prowl  about  the 
lawn  or  smoke  on  the  porch.  ...  I  am  glad  he  came. 
I  have  learned  to  like  him  very  much." 

348 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"You're  a  dear!"  she  murmured  under  her  breath, 
her  grey  eyes  fixed  on  him  and  full  of  a  gay  tenderness 
tinged  with  humour.  "You  always  do  the  right  thing, 
Jim ;  you  are  right,  that's  the  reason.  Do  you  wonder 
that  I'm  quite  mad  about  you? — I,  who  am  all  wrong." 

"Who  says  you  are  all  wrong?"  he  demanded,  start- 
ing toward  her.  But  she  deftly  avoided  him,  putting 
the  sun  dial  between  them.  And,  leaning  on  it  with 
both  elbows,  her  face  framed  in  her  hands,  she  let  her 
eyes  look  gay  defiance  into  his. 

"I'm  all  wrong,"  she  said.  "You  don't  know  it,  but 
I  am." 

"Do  you  want  to  be  punished?" 

She  laughed  tormentingly,  feeling  delightfully  secure 
from  his  demonstrations  there  on  the  sunny  lawn,  with 
Helen  wandering  about  inspecting  the  flowers  in  the 
garden,  and  the  hired  man  unloading  the  luggage  at  the 
side-door. 

"Come  on,  Helen!"  she  called  gaily.  "We  can  have 
a  bath;  there's  plumbing  in  the  house,  you  know. 
Where  do  you  suppose  that  poor  cat  is  hidden?" 

Helen  came  from  the  garden  with  a  blue  pansy  be- 
tween her  lips,  which  she  presently  drew  through  Cle- 
land's  lapel. 

"A  bribe,  dear  friend.  I  wish  to  go  fishing,"  she  said. 
"Stephanie  has  been  telling  me  about  her  girlhood  days 
here  with  you,  and  how  you  took  her  on  several  sacred 
occasions  to  a  mysterious,  dashing  stream  full  of  huge 
bowlders — somewhere  deep  in  the  primeval  woods 

"The  Dunbar  brook,  Jim,"  smiled  Stephanie. 
"Shall  we  go  fishing  in  the  morning?  I'm  not  going 
to  spend  all  my  time  fussing  with  domestic  problems." 

"The  cares  of  housekeeping  sit  lightly  on  her,"  re- 
marked Helen,  as  they  all  strolled  toward  the  porch. 

349 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"What  if  the  new  servants  are  slack  and  wasteful? 
Being  a  man  you  wouldn't  know;  being  Steve,  she 
doesn't  worry.  I  see  that  it's  going  to  devolve  on  me. 
Is  it  possible  to  run  two  baths  in  this  house  at  the  same 
time?" 

"Is  it?"  inquired  Stephanie  of  Cleland.     "I  forget." 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "if  you  don't  draw  too  much  hot 
water." 

"Take  yours  first,  Helen,"  she  said.  "I'll  sit  in  this 
cool  library  and  gossip  with  Jim  for  a  while." 

She  unpinned  her  hat  and  flung  it  on  a  sofa,  untied 
a  large  box  of  bonbons,  and  careless  of  her  charmingly 
disordered  hair,  vaulted  to  a  seat  on  the  massive  centre 
table — a  favourite  perch  of  hers  when  a  young  girl. 

Helen  lingered  to  raid  the  bonbons ;  Cleland  immedi- 
ately began  his  pet  theme: 

"Why  do  Americans  eat  candy?  Because  the  nation 
doesn't  know  how  to  cook!  The  French  don't  stuff 
themselves  with  candy.  There  isn't,  in  Paris,  a  candy- 
shop  to  the  linear  mile !  That's  because  French  stom- 
achs, being  properly  fed  with  properly  and  deliciously 
cooked  food,  don't  crave  candy.  But  in  a  country 
noted  for  its  wretched  and  detestable  bread " 

"Oh,  you  always  say  that,"  remarked  Stephanie. 
"Some  day  I'll  go  over  and  find  out  how  much  truth 
there  is  in  your  tirades.  Meanwhile,  I  shall  consume 
candy." 

"When  you  go  over,"  he  said,  "you'll  go  with  me." 
His  voice  was  low.  Helen  had  strolled  into  the  "best 
room"  and  was  standing  there  with  a  bitter  chocolate 
between  her  fingers,  contemplating  the  old-time  furni- 
ture. 

"When  I  go  over  to  Paris,"  said  Stephanie  airily,  "I 
shall  invite  whom  I  choose." 

350 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Who  will  it  be?" 

"Oh,  some  agreeable  young  man  who  isn't  too  bossy," 
she  returned  airily.  "Somebody  who  doesn't  try  to 
place  me  in  a  day  nursery  while  he  goes  about  and  has 
his  fling.  But,  of  course,  that  doesn't  mean  you. 
You've  had  your  fling,  haven't  you?" 

"Not  too  violently,"  he  said. 

"That  is  your  story.  But  I  think  I'll  investigate  it 
when  I  go  over,  and  tell  you  what  I've  found  out  when 
I  return." 

Helen  finished  her  chocolate  and  came  back. 

"Where  the  dickens  is  that  unhappy  cat,  do  you 
suppose?"  she  inquired. 

"Oh,  she'll  turn  up  at  dinner-time,"  Cleland  reas- 
sured her.  "Do  you  know  where  your  room  is, 
Helen?" 

"How  should  I  ?"  returned  that  young  lady,  " — never 
having  been  in  the  house  before " 

"Dear,  forgive  me!"  cried  Stephanie,  jumping  from 
her  perch  and  passing  one  arm  around  Helen's  shoul- 
ders. 

They  went  away  together,  the  former  waving  a  saucy 
adieu  to  Cleland  behind  her  back,  without  turning.  She 
did  not  return. 

So  he  concluded  to  get  himself  into  fresh  flannels, 
the  late  afternoon  having  grown  very  warm  and  prom- 
ising a  close  and  humid  evening. 

But  when  he  descended  again  from  his  room,  he 
found  nobody  except  the  cat,  who,  sadly  disfigured  by 
coal-dust,  advanced  toward  him  with  amiable  inten- 
tion. 

"Very  fine,  old  girl,"  he  said,  "but  you  need  a  bath., 
too."  So  he  rang  and  sent  for  some  butter,  dabbed  a 
little  on  the  cat's  nose ;  and  in  ten  seconds  she  had 

351 


begun  a  thorough  and  minute  toilet,  greatly  to  Cle- 
land's  edification. 

"Keep  it  up,"  he  said,  much  interested,  watching 
the  pink  tongue  travelling  over  the  fur,  and  the  velvet 
paw  scrubbing  away  industriously.  "Good  old  cat ! 
Go  to  it!  Take  the  whole  course — massage,  shampoo, 
manicure,  whiskers  ironed!  By  Jove,  you're  coming 
out  brand  new!" 

The  cat  paused  to  blink  at  him,  sniff  for  a  moment 
some  faint  perfume  of  distant  cooking,  unnoticed  by  his 
less  delicate  nostrils,  then  she  settled  down  to  the 
business  in  hand.  And  when  a  cat  does  that  she  feels 
that  she  is  entirely  at  home. 

Not  until  a  maid  announced  dinner  did  the  two  girls 
appear,  both  arrayed  in  that  filmy  and  dainty  flyaway 
apparel  suitable  only  to  youth  and  freshness. 

"We  had  naps,"  remarked  Stephanie  shamelessly, 
and  with  a  slightly  malicious  humour  in  her  smile,  for 
she  knew  that  Cleland  had  expected  her  to  return  for 
the  ten-minutes'  gossip  she  had  suggested. 

He  shrugged: 

"You  should  see  your  cat !  She's  polished  within  an 
inch  of  her  life " 

A  loud  mew  by  his  chair  announced  the  regenerated 
animal's  advent. 

Stephanie  fed  it  with  odd  morsels  from  time  to  time, 
and  cautioned  the  waitress  to  prepare  a  banquet  for 
it  after  dinner. 

It  was  still  daylight  when  they  strolled  out  into  the 
garden.  The  tree-clad  eastern  ridge  was  all  ruddy  in 
the  rays  of  a  declining  sun ;  the  river  dull  silver  save  in 
pools  where  pearl  and  pink  tints  tinged  the  stiller 
water.  Birds  were  very  noisy,  robins  gallantly  at- 
tacking a  gay  carol  which  they  always  found  impos- 

352 


sible  to  vary  or  bring  to  any  convincing  musical  con- 
clusion; song  sparrows  sweetly  monotonous;  an  ex- 
quisite burst  of  melody  from  a  rose-grosbeak  high  on 
a  balsam-tip  above  the  stream;  the  rushing  twitter  of 
chimney  swifts  sweeping  by,  mounting,  fluttering,  sheer- 
ing through  the  sunset  sky. 

Helen,  pausing  by  the  sun-dial,  read  aloud  what  was 
chiselled  there,  black  with  encrusted  lichens. 

"Who  wrote  this?"  she  asked  curiously. 

"Some  bandit  of  the  back-woods,  some  wilderness  fur 
trader  or  ruthless  forest  runner — with  murder  on  his 
soul,  perhaps.  I  don't  remember  now.  But  my  father 
made  a  note  of  the  story." 

She  read  the  straggling  lines  again,  slowly: 

"But  for  ye  Sunne  no  one  would  heed  Me — 
A  senseless  Stone; 

But  for  ye  Sunne  no  one  could  rede  Me 
Save  God  alone. 

I  and  my  comrade  Sunne,  together, 
Print  here  ye  hours 

In  praise  of  Love  and  pleasant  weather 
And  Youth  and  flowers." 

"How  odd  and  quaint,"  she  mused,  " — and  what 
straggling,  primitive,  illiterate  letters  these  are,  chis- 
elled here  in  this  black  basalt.  Fancy  that  gaunt, 
grim,  buck-skinned  runner  emerging  from  the  wilder- 
ness into  this  solitary  settlement,  finding  shelter  and  re- 
freshment; and,  in  his  brief  hour  of  rest  and  idleness, 
labouring  to  leave  his  record  on  this  old  stone !" 

"His  was  a  poet's  soul,"  said  Cleland,  " — but  he 
probably  took  an  Iroquois  scalp  when  unobserved,  and 
skinned  living  and  dead  impartially  in  his  fur  transac- 
tions." 

"Some  degenerate  son  of  honest  English  stock,  I 

353 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


suppose,"  nodded  Helen.  "Yet,  he  had  the  simplicity 
of  the  Cavalier  verse-makers  in  his  gracious  heart.  .  .  . 
Well,  for  his  sake " 

She  laid  a  June  rose  on  the  weather-ravaged  dial. 
"God  rest  him,  anyway !"  she  added  lightly.  "There's 
a  devil  in  every  one  of  us." 

"Not  in  you,  darling,"  cooed  Stephanie,  enlacing  her 
waist.  "If  there  ever  was,  he's  dead." 

"I  wonder."  .  .  .  She  glanced  deliberately  at  Cle- 
land,  then  smiled: 

"There  was  a  bully  romance  I  read  in  extreme  youth, 
in  which  an  old  swashbuckler  was  always  exclaiming: 
'Courage !  The  devil  is  dead !'  And  since  I  have  real- 
ized that  I,  also,  harboured  a  devil,  the  memory  of 
that  cheery  war-cry  always  puts  me  on  my  mettle  to 
slay  him.  .  .  .  It's  a  good  fight,  Jim,"  she  added, 
serenely.  "But  a  really  good  fight  is  never  finished,  you 
know.  And  it's  better  to  end  the  story  with,  'so  they 
lived  to  fight  happily  ever  after,'  than  to  announce  that 
the  problem  is  solved,  the  romance  ended  for  eternity." 

In  the  pink  dusk  she  picked  her  way  over  the  dewy 
grass  toward  the  porch,  saying  carelessly  that  her 
ancient  bones  resented  dampness. 

Stephanie,  resting  against  the  sun-dial,  inhaled  the 
sweetness  of  the  iris  and  spoke  of  it. 

"The  flowers  are  lilac-grey,  like  your  eyes,"  he  said. 
"The  scent  expresses  you  to  me — faintly  sweet — a 
young,  fresh,  delicate  odour — you — in  terms  of  per- 
fume." 

"Such  a  poet !  .  .  .  But  you  know  one  never  should 
touch  the  petals  of  an  iris.  .  .  .  The  indiscreet  im- 
print remains." 

"Have  I  left  any  imprint?" 

"I  should  say  you  had!     Do  you  suppose  my  mind 

354 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


isn't  busy  most  of  the  time  remembering  your — im- 
prints ?" 

"Is  it?" 

"Does  it  comfort  you  to  know  it?  Nobody  else  ever 
pawed  me." 

"A  nice  way  to  put  it !"  he  remarked. 

She  shrugged: 

"I  don't  know  how  it  was  I  first  premitted  it — came 
to  endure  it "  She  lifted  her  grey  eyes  deliber- 
ately, " — invited  it  ...  because  I  came  to  expect  it — 

wish  for  it "  She  bit  her  lip  and  made  a  quick 

gesture  with  clenched  hand.  "Oh,  Jim,  I'm  no  good ! 
Here  I  am  married,  and  as  nonchalantly  unfaithful  to 
my  vows  as  you  care  to  make  me " 

She  turned  abruptly  and  walked  across  the  lawn 
toward  the  willows  that  fringed  the  stream,  moving 
leisurely,  pensively,  her  hands  linked  behind  her  back. 
He  rejoined  her  at  the  willows  and  they  slowly  entered 
the  misty  belt  of  trees  together. 

"If  you  knew,"  she  said,  "what  a  futile,  irresolute, 
irresponsible  creature  I  am,  you  wouldn't  waste  real 
love  on  me.  There's  nothing  to  me  except  feminine 
restlessness,  mental  and  physical,  and  it  urges,  urges, 
urges  me  to  wander  frivolously  in  pursuit  of  God  knows 
what — I  don't !  But  always  my  mind  is  a  traveller  im- 
patient to  go  a-gypsying,  and  my  feet  beat  the  devil's 
tattoo " 

She  sprang  from  the  pebbles  to  a  flat  river  stone 
projecting  from  the  shore  and  stood  poised,  looking 
out  across  the  rushing  water  at  the  mist  curling  there 
along  the  crests  of  little  hurrying  waves.  A  firefly 
drifted  through  it;  above,  unseen,  night-hawks  called 
persistently.  She  turned  her  head  toward  him  expect- 
antly. 

355 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


There  was  room  enough  on  the  rock  and  he  stepped 
to  her  side. 

"I'm  like  that  water,"  she  said,  "making  a  futile 
noise  in  the  world,  dashing  and  rippling  along  without 
any  plan  of  my  own,  any  destination.  When  I'm  hon- 
est with  myself,  I  know  that  it  isn't  the  intellectual 
desire  for  self-expression  that  keeps  me  restless ;  it's 
merely  and  solely  the  instinct  to  ripple  and  bubble  and 
dance  and  flow  out  under  the  stars  and  sunsets  and 
dawns — and  go  sparkling  and  swirling  and  glimmer- 
ing purposelessly  away  out  into  the  world  at  ran- 
dom. .  .  .  And  that's  all  there  is  to  Stephanie 
Quest! — if  you  really  desire  to  know — }TOU  very  ro- 
mantic and  foolish  boy,  who  think  yourself  in  love  with 
her !" 

She  looked  up  and  laughed  at  his  sober  face. 

"Dear  novelist,"  she  said,  "it's  common  realism,  not 
romantic  fiction,  that  has  us  in  its  clutches.  We're 
caught  by  the  commonplace.  If  life  were  only  like  one 
of  your  novels,  with  some  definite  beginning,  an  artistic 
plot  full  of  action  running  toward  a  properly  planned 
climax ! — but  it  isn't !  It  begins  in  the  middle  and  ends 
nowhere.  And  here's  another  trouble  with  real  life ; 
there  aren't  any  villains.  And  that's  fatal  to  me  as 
your  heroine,  Jim,  for  I  can't  be  one  unless  I'm  fur- 
nished with  a  foil." 

"Steve,"  he  said,  "if  you  are  not  everything  that  my 
mind  and  heart  believe  you  to  be,  the  time  is  past  when 
it  makes  any  difference  to  me  what  you  are." 

She  laughed: 

"Oh,  Jim,  is  it  really  as  serious -as  that?  Can  you 
stand  for  a  mindless,  purposeless  girl  of  unmoral  and 
nomadic  proclivities  who  really  hasn't  a  single  gift — 
no  self  to  express,  no  creative  or  interpretive  talent — 

356 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


with  nothing  but  an  inordinate,  unquiet  curiosity  to 
find  out  everything  there  is  to  find  out — a  mental 
gypsy,  lazy,  self-idulgent,  pleasure-loving,  irresponsi- 
ble  " 

He  began  to  laugh: 

"All  that  is  covered  by  one  word — 'intelligent,' "  he 
said.  "You're  just  human,  with  a  healthy  intellect  and 
normal  inclinations." 

"Oh,  dear,  you're  so  dreadfully  wrong.  I'm  a  fraud 
— nice  to  look  at  and  to  stroll  with " 

She  turned  and  stepped  across  to  the  pebbled  shore. 
He  followed.  She  bent  her  head  and,  not  looking  at 
him,  drew  his  arm  around  her  waist  and  held  it  there 
with  one  hand  across  his. 

"I'm  desperately  in  love,"  she  said,  "but  I'm  a  sham 
— agreeable  to  caress,  pliant,  an  apt  pupil — pretty 
material  for  a  sweetheart,  Jim — but  for  nothing  more 
important."  .  .  .  They  walked  slowly  along  the  shore 
path  down  stream  under  the  silver  willows,  his  arm  en- 
lacing her  supple  figure,  her  slow,  deliberate  steps  in 
rhythm  with  his. 

After  a  while  he  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"Dear,  you  and  I  have  already  come  a  long  way  on 
the  blossoming  path  together.  I  believe  it  is  written 
that  we  travel  it  together  to  the  end.  Don't  you  want 
me  always,  Steve?" 

"Yes,"  she  sighed,  pressing  her  hand  over  his  at  her 
waist.  "I  do  want  you,  always.  .  .  .  But,  Jim — I'm 
not  what  you  think  me.  I  ran  rather  wild  while  you 
were  away.  Liberty  went  to  my  empty  head.  I  didn't 
seem  to  care  what  I  did.  The  very  devils  seemed  to  be  in 
my  heels  and  they  carried  me  everywhere  at  ran- 
dom  " 

"Nonsense !" 

3-57 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Oh,  they  did !  They  landed  me  in  a  dreadful  pickle. 
You  know  they  did.  And  now  here  I  am,  married,  and 
falling  more  desperately  in  love  every  minute  with  the 
other  man.  You  can't  really  love  such  a  fool  of  a 
girl !" 

"It  makes  no  difference,"  he  said,  "I  can't  go  on 
alone,  now." 

She  pressed  her  cheek  against  his  shoulder : 

"You  need  not.  You  can  always  have  me  when  you 
wish." 

"You  mean — just  this  way?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  How  else "  She  looked  up  at  him ; 

he  suddenly  stopped  in  the  path,  her  next  step  brought 
her  around  facing  him,  where  she  halted,  encircled  by 
his  arm.  After  a  moment's  silence,  she  rested  her 
clasped  hands  on  his  shoulder,  looking  very  seriously 
into  his  eyes. 

"How  else?"  she  repeated  in  a  half- whisper. 

"Divorce." 

"No,  dear." 

"Either  that  or — we  can  go  away  somewhere — to- 
gether  " 

The  dryness  of  his  throat  checked  him,  and  her  clear 
eyes  looked  him  through  and  through. 

"Either  you  or  I,"  he  said,  "have  got  to  tell  Oswald 
how  matters " 

"We  can't,  Jim." 

"Tell  him,"  he  continued,  "that  we  are  in  love  with 
each  other  and  need  to  marry " 

"Oh,  Jim — my  dear — dearest,  I  can't  do  that !" 

"It's  true,  isn't  it?"  he  demanded. 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  while.  Then  she  unclasped 
his  hands,  which  had  been  resting  on  his  shoulder,  and 
slipped  one  arm  around  his  neck : 

358 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Yes,  it  is  true;  I  want  to  marry  you.  But  I 
can't.  .  .  .  So — so  won't  this  way  do?"  she  said. 
"You  can  always  have  me  this  way." 

He  kissed  her  lifted  lips. 

"No,  it  won't  do,  Steve.  I  want  all  that  you  are,  all 
that  you  have  to  give  the  man  you  love  and  marry,  all 
that  the  future  holds  of  beauty  and  of  mystery  for  us 
both.  ...  I  want  a  home  with  you,  Steve;  I  want 
every  minute  of  life  with  you,  waking  and  sleeping.  .  .  . 
I  love  you,  Steve.  .  .  .  And  because  I  do  love  you  I 
dare  tell  you  that  I  am  falling  in  love  with  our  future, 
too — in  love  with  the  very  thought  of — your  children, 
Steve.  .  .  .  Dear,  I  think  that  I  am  like  my  father. 
I  love  only  once.  And  once  in  love,  there  is  nothing  else 
for  me ;  no  other  woman,  no  recompense  if  you  fail  me, 
no  cure  for  me." 

They  both  were  deadly  serious  now;  his  face  was 
quiet  but  set  in  firm  and  sober  lines ;  she  had  lost  much 
of  her  colour,  so  that  the  grey  eyes  with  their  dark 
lashes  seemed  unusually  large. 

"I  can't  marry  you,"  she  said,  drawing  his  head 
nearer.  "Do  you  think  for  one  moment  that  I  would 
deny  you  anything  you  asked  of  me  if  it  were  in  my 
power  to  give?" 

"Will  you  not  tell  me  why?" 

"I'm  not  free  to  tell  you.  .  .  .  Oh,  Jim!  I  adore 
you — I  do  love  you  so — so  deeply.  I'm  married.  I'm 
sorry  I'm  married.  But  I  can't  help  it — I  can't  get 
out  of  it — it  scares  me  even  to  think  of  trying 

"What  hold  has  that  man " 

"No  hold.  There's  something  else — something  sad, 
terrible " 

"I'll  take  you,  anyway,"  he  said  in  a  low,  tense  voice. 
"He  will  have  his  remedy." 

359 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"How,  Jim?  Do  you  mean  that  you  wish  me  to  defy 
opinion  with  you?  You  wouldn't  let  me  do  that,  would 
you,  dear?  I'd  do  it  if  you  asked,  but  you  wouldn't 
let  me,  would  you?" 

"No."  He  had  lost  his  head  for  a  moment ;  that  was 
all ;  and  the  ugly  threat  had  been  wrenched  out  of  him 
in  the  confusion  of  a  tortured  mind  struggling  against 
it  knew  not  what. 

"Jim,"  she  asked  under  her  breath,  "would  you  really 
let  me?" 

"No,'-l  he  said  savagely. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't." 

Her  arm  slipped  from  his  neck  and  again  she  clasped 
both  slender  hands,  rested  them  on  his  shoulder,  and 
laid  her  check  against  them. 

"It  wouldn't  help  me  out  of  this  pickle  if  we  misbe- 
haved," she  said  thoughtfully.  "It  wouldn't  solve  the 
problem.  ...  I  suppose  you've  taken  me  seriously  as 
an  apostle  of  that  new  liberty  which  ignores  irregulari- 
ties— doesn't  admit  them  to  be  irregular.  That's  why 
you  said  what  you  did  say,  I  fancy.  I've  talked  enough 
modern  foolishness  to  have  you  think  me  quite  emanci- 
pated— quite  indifferent  to  the  old  social  order,  the  old 
code  of  morals,  the  old  dogmas,  the  ancient  and  ortho- 
dox laws  of  community  and  individual  conduct.  .  .  . 
Haven't  you  supposed  me  quite  capable  of  sauntering 
away  unconventionally  with  the  man  I  love,  after  the 
ironical  and  casual  spectacle  of  marriage  which  I  have 
afforded  you?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  bitterly.  "I  don't  know  what 
I  have  thought.  .  .  .  There  will  never  be  anybody  ex- 
cept you.  If  I  lose  you  I  lose  the  world.  But  between 
you  and  me  there  is  a  deeper  tie  than  anything  less 
than  marriage  could  sanction.  We  couldn't  ever  do 

360 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


that,  Steve — let  the  world  go  hang  while  we  gave  it  an 
extra  kick  for  each  other's  sakes." 

"Because,"  she  whispered,  "dad's  roof  was  ours.  For 
his  honour,  if  not  for  our  own,  we  could  not  affront  the 
world,  dear.  .  .  .  Not  that  I  don't  love  you  enough !" 
she  added  almost  fiercely.  I  do  love  you  enough!  I 
don't  care  whether  you  know  it.  Nothing  would  mat- 
ter— if  there  were  no  other  way — and  if  I  were  free  to 
take  the  only  way  that  offered.  Do  you  suppose  I'd 
hesitate  if  it  lay  between  taking  that  way  and  losing 
you?" 

She  turned  and  began  to  pace  the  path  excitedly, 
cheeks  flushed  and  hands  clenching  and  unclenching. 

"What  do  I  care  about  myself!"  she  said.  She 
snapped  her  fingers :  "I  don't  care  that ,  Jim,  when  your 
happiness  is  at  stake!  I'd  go  to  you,  go  with  you, 
love  you,  face  the  world  undaunted.  I  care  nothing 
about  myself.  I  know  myself!  What  am  I?  You 
know!" 

She  came  up  close  to  him,  her  face  afire,  her  grey 
eyes  brilliant. 

"You  know  what  I  am,"  she  repeated.  "You  and 
dad  did  everything  to  make  me  like  yourselves.  You 
took  me  out  of  the  gutter " 

"Steve !" 

"You  took  me  out  of  the  gutter !"  she  repeated  excit- 
edly. "You  cleaned  the  filth  from  me,  gave  me  shelter, 
love ; — you  educated  me,  made  me  possible,  strove  to 
eradicate  the  unworthy  instincts  and  inclinations  which 
I  might  have  inherited.  My  aunt  told  me.  I  know 
what  dad  did  for  me!  Why  shouldn't  I  adore  the 
memory  of  your  father?  Why  shouldn't  I  love  his  son? 
I  do.  I  always  have.  I  didn't  dream  that  you  ever 
could  offer  me  a  greater  love.  But  when  I  understood 

361 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


that  it  was  true — when  I  realized  that  it  was  really 
love,  then  I  stepped  into  your  arms  because  you  held 
them  out  to  me — because  you  were  your  father's  son 
whom  I  had  loved  passionately  all  my  life  in  one  way, 
and  was  willing  to  learn  to  love  in  any  way  you  asked 
of  me — Jim ! — my  brother — my  lover " 

She  flung  herself  into  his  arms,  choking,  clinging  to 
him,  struggling  to  control  her  voice: 

"I  am  nothing — I  am  nothing,"  she  sobbed  passion- 
ately. "Why  should  not  all  my  gratitude  and  loyalty 
be  for  your  father's  son?  What  is  so  terrible  to  me  is 
that  I  can't  give  myself !  That  I  can't  throw  myself  at 
your  feet  for  life.  To  marry  you  would  be  too  heavenly 
wonderful !  Or,  to  snap  my  fingers  in  the  world's  face 
for  your  sake — dearest — that  would  be  so  little  to  do 
for  you — so  easy. 

"But  I  can't.  Your  father — dad — would  know  it. 
And  then  the  world  would  blame  him  for  ever  harbour- 
ing a  gutter-waif " 

"Steve,  dearest " 

"Oh,  Jim,"  she  stammered,  "I  haven't  even  told  you 
how  those  inherited  traits  have  raised  the  deuce  with 
me.  I've  got  in  me  all  the  low  instincts,  all  the  indo- 
lence, the  selfish  laziness,  the  haphazard,  irresponsible, 
devil-may-care  traits  of  the  man  who  was  my  own 
father !" 

"Steve !" 

"Let  me  tell  you !  I've  got  to  tell  you.  I  can't  keep 
it  any  longer.  It  was  something  in  Oswald  that  ap- 
pealed to  that  gypsy  side  of  me — awoke  it,  I  think. 
The  first  time  I  ever  saw  him,  as  a  boy,  and  under  dis- 
agreeable circumstances,  I  felt  an  odd  inclination  for 
him.  He  was  like  me,  and  I  sensed  it !  I  told  you  that 
once.  It's  true.  Something  in  him  appealed  to  the 

362 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


vagabond  recklessness  and  irresponsibility  latent  in 
me — the  tendency  to  wander,  the  indolent  desire  to 
drift  and  explore  pleasant  places.  .  .  .  After  you 
went  abroad  I  met  him.  I  wrote  you  about  it.  I  liked 
him.  He  fascinated  me.  There  was  something  in  com- 
mon— something  common  in  common  between  us.  .  .  . 
I  went  to  his  studio,  at  first  with  Helen,  and  also  when 
others  were  there.  Then  I  went  alone.  I  didn't  care, 
knowing  there  was  really  no  harm  in  going,  and  also 
being  at  the  age  when  defiance  of  convention  is  more 
or  less  attractive  to  every  girl. 

"He  was  fascinating.  He  was  plainly  in  love  with 
me.  But  that  means  nothing  to  a  girl  except  the  subtle 
excitement  and  flattery  of  the  fact.  But  he  was  what  I 
wanted — a  fellow  vagabond! 

"Every  time  I  came  into  town  I  went  to  his  studio. 
My  aunt  had  no  idea  what  I  was  up  to.  And  we  did 
have  such  good  times,  Jim! — you  see  he  was  successful 
then,  and  he  had  a  wonderful  studio — and  a  car — 
and  we  ran  out  into  the  country  and  then  returned  to 
take  tea  in  his  studio.  .  .  .  And,  Jim,  it  was  all  right 
— but  it  was  not  good  for  me." 

She  clasped  his  arm  with  both  of  hers  and  rested 
her  head  on  his  shoulder;  and  went  on  talking  in  a 
steadier  and  more  subdued  voice : 

"I  didn't  write  you  about  it;  I  was  very  sure  you 
wouldn't  approve.  And  my  head  was  stuffed  full  of 
modernism  and  liberty  and  urge  and  the  necessity  for 
self-expression.  I  felt  that  I  had  a  perfect  right  to 
enjoy  myself.  .  .  .  And  then  came  trouble.  It  always 
does.  .  .  .  Oswald's  father,  Chiltern  Grismer,  came  to 
the  hospital  one  day,  terribly  wrought  up  and  looking 
ghastly. 

"My  aunt  had  gone  to  New  York  to  consult  a  spe- 

363 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


cialist,  but  he  asked  for  me,  and  I  came  down  to  the 
private  reception  room.  I  was  a  graduate  nurse  then. 
Oh,  Jim ! — it  was  quite  dreadful.  He  seemed  to  be 
scared  until  he  saw  that  I  was.  Then  he  was  fearfully 
harsh  with  me.  He  told  me  that  my  aunt  was  about  to 
begin  suit  against  him  to  recover  some  money — a  great 
deal  of  money — which  my  aunt  pretended  I  should 
have  inherited  from  my  grandmother,  Mr.  Grismer's 
sister. 

"He  said  we  were  two  adventuresses  and  that  he 
would  expose  me  and  my  unhappy  origin — all  that  hor- 
ror of  my  childhood " 

A  sob  checked  her ;  she  rested  in  his  arms,  breathing 
fast  and  irregularly;  then,  recovering  self-control: 

"I  was  bewildered.  I  told  him  I  didn't  want  his 
money.  But  there  was  in  his  eyes  a  terror  which  I 
could  see  there  even  when  he  was  upbraiding  and  threat- 
ening me  most  violently.  I  didn't  know  what  to  do ;  I 
wanted  to  go  back  to  my  ward,  but  he  followed  me  and 
held  the  door  closed,  and  I  had  to  listen  to  the  terrible, 
shameful  things  he  said  about  my  mother's  mother  and 
my  own  mother  and  myself.  .  .  .  Well — just  as  he 
was  about  to  leave,  my  aunt  entered.  ...  I  was  in 
tears,  and  Mr.  Grismer's  face  was  all  twisted  and  con- 
torted with  rage,  as  I  thought ;  but  it  remained  so, 
white  and  distorted,  as  though  something  had  broken 
and  he  couldn't  recover  the  mobility  of  his  features.  I 
heard  what  my  aunt  said  to  him — I  didn't  want  to  hear 
it.  I  cried  out,  protesting  that  I  didn't  wish  any  of 
his  money.  .  .  .  He  went  away  with  his  face  all 
twisted.  .  .  ." 

"What  did  your  aunt  say  to  him?" 

"I  can't  tell  you,  dear.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell 
you.  .  .  .  And  after  all,  it  doesn't  matter.  .  .  .  He 

364 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


died-r-suddenly — a  week  later.  .  .  .  My  aunt  was  ill 
at  the  time  and  I  was  with  her.  ...  A  letter  was 
handed  to  her  by  an  orderly.  It  was  from  Mr.  Gris- 
mer.  .  .  .  From  a  dead  man!  What  she  read  in  it 
seemed  to  be  a  terrific  shock  to  her.  She  was  sick  and 
weak,  but  she  got  out  of  bed  and  telephoned  to  her  at- 
torney's in  New  York.  .  .  • .  I  was  frightened.  .  .  . 
It  was  a  most  dreadful  night  for  us  both.  .  .  . 
And  .  .  .  and  my  aunt  died  of  it,  I  think — the  shock 
and  her  illness  combined.  .  .  .  She  died  a  week 
later.  ...  I  took  our  studio  with  Helen.  ...  I  saw 
Oswald  every  day.  He  had  inherited  a  great  deal  of 
money.  We  went  about.  .  .  .  And,  Jim,  the  very- 
devil  was  in  me  to  roam  everywhere  with  him  and  see 
things  and  explore  the  part  of  the  world  we  could  cover 
in  his  touring  car.  All  the  gypsy  instinct  born  in  me, 
all  the  tendency  to  irresponsible  wandering  and  idle 
pleasure  suddenly  seemed  to  develop  and  demand  satis- 
faction. .  .  .  Oswald  was  a  dear.  He  was  in  love  with 
me ;  I  knew  it.  He  didn't  want  to  go  on  those  esca- 
pades with  me ;  but  I  bullied  him  into  it.  .  .  .  And  it 
got  to  a  point  beyond  all  bounds ;  the  more  recklessly 
we  went  about  the  keener  my  delight  in  risking  every- 
thing for  the  sake  of  unconventional  amusement. 
Twice  we  were  caught  out  so  far  from  New  York  that 
he  had  to  drive  all  night  to  get  into  town.  And  then, 
what  was  to  be  expected  happened :  our  car  broke  down 
when  it  meant  a  night  away  from  the  studio  with  Os- 
wald. And  the  very  deuce  was  to  pay,  too,  for  in  the 
Ten  Eyck  Hotel  at  Albany  we  ran  into  friends — girls 
I  knew  in  school  and  their  parents — friends  of 
dad's ! 

"Oh,  Jim,  I  was  panic-stricken.     We  had  to  stay 
there,  too.     I — there  was  nothing  to  do  but  present 

365 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Oswald  as  my  husband.  .  .  .  That  was  a  terrible  night. 
We  had  two  rooms  and  a  connecting  parlour.  We 
talked  it  over ;  I  cried  most  of  the  time.  Then  I  wrote 
out  that  cablegram  to  you.  .  .  .  Oh,  Jim,  he  is  a  dear. 
You  don't  know  him  as  I  do.  He  knew  I  didn't  love  him 
and  he  was  in  love  with  me.  .  .  .  Well,  we  had  to  do 
something. 

"He  went  out  to  the  Fort  Orange  Club  and  got  a 
man  he  knew.  Then,  with  this  man  as  witness,  we  told 
each  other  that  we'd  marry  each  other.  .  .  .  Then 
Oswald  went  away  with  his  friend  and  I  didn't  see  him 
again  until  next  day,  when  he  called  for  me  with  the 
car.  .  .  .  And  that  is  all  there  was  of  my  mar- 
riage. .  .  .  And  now,"  she  sobbed,  "I'm  in  love  with 

you  and  I — I "     She  broke  down  hopelessly.     He 

drew  her  close  to  him,  holding  her  tightly. 

"There  is  m-more,"  she  faltered,  "but  I  c-can't  tell  it. 
It's  c-confidential — a  matter  of  honour.  I  want  to  be 
what  dad  and  you  expect  of  me.  I  do  want  to  be  hon- 
ourable. That  is  why  I  can't  tell  you  another  per- 
son's secret.  ...  It  would  be  dishonourable.  And 
even  if  I  told  you,  I'd  be  afraid  to  ask  him  for  my  free- 
dom  " 

"You  mean  he  would  not  let  you  divorce  him?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  don't  mean  that !  That  is  the  terrible 
part  of  it!  He  would  give  me  my  freedom.  But  I 
don't  want  it — that  way — not  on  the — not  on  such 
terms " 

They  walked  slowly  toward  the  house  together,  she 
leaning  on  him  as  though  very  tired.  Ahead  of  them 
a  few  fireflies  sparkled.  The  rushing  roar  of  the  river 
was  in  their  ears  all  the  way  to  the  house. 

Helen  had  retired,  leaving  a  note  for  them  on  the 
library  table: 

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THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Forgive  me,  but  I've  yawned  my  head  off — not  because 
you  two  lunatics  are  out  star-gazing,  but  because  I'm  in  my 
right  mind  and  healthily  fatigued.  Put  the  cat  out  before 
you  lock  up! 

H. 

Stephanie  laughed,  and  they  hunted  up  the  cat,  dis- 
covered her  asleep  in  the  best  room,  and  bore  her  out 
to  the  veranda.  Then  Cleland  locked  up  while  Steph- 
anie waited  for  him.  Her  tears  had  dried.  She  was  a 
trifle  pale  and  languid  in  her  movements,  but  so  lovely 
that  Cleland,  already  hopelessly  in  love  with  her,  fell 
deeper  as  he  looked  at  her  in  this  pale  and  unfamiliar 
phase. 

Her  grey  eyes  returned  his  adoration  sweetly,  pen- 
sively humourous: 

"I'm  in  rags,  emotionally,"  she  said.  "This  loving 
a  young  man  is  a  disturbing  business  to  a  girl  who's 
just  learned  how.  .  .  .  Are  you  coming  upstairs?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"You'll  sleep,  of  course?" 

"Probably  not  a  wink,  Steve." 

"I  wonder  if  I  shall." 

They  ascended  the  old  staircase  together  in  silence. 
At  her  door  she  held  out  her  hand;  he  kissed  it,  re- 
leased the  fingers,  but  they  closed  around  his  and  she 
drew  him  to  her. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  said.     "Tell  me?" 

"I  don't  know,  dearest.  There  seems  to  be  nothing 
you  can  do  for  us." 

She  bent  her  head  thoughtfully. 

"Anything  that  dishonours  me  would  dishonour  you 
and  dad,  wouldn't  it,  Jim?" 

"Yes." 

She  nodded. 

367 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"You  understand,  don't  you?  I  count  myself  as 
nothing.  Only  you  count,  Jim.  But  I  can't  marry 
you.  And  I  can't  go  to  you  otherwise  without  betray- 
ing both  dad  and  you.  It  isn't  a  question  of  my  being 
married  and  of  loving  you  enough  to  disregard  it.  I 
do.  But  you  and  dad  require  more  than  that  of  the 
girl  you  made  one  of  your  own  race.  I  am  loyal  to 
what  you  both  expect  of  me.  .  .  .  Good  night, 
dear.  .  .  .  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  way  I  can 
make  you  happy.  The  only  way  I  can  show  my  love 
and  gratitude  to  dad  and  you  is  to  retain  your  re- 
spect ...  by  being  unkind — Jim — my  dearest — dear- 
est  " 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  gave  him  her  lips,  slipped 
swiftly  out  of  his  arms  and  into  her  room. 

"Oh,  I'm  desperately  in  love,"  she  said,  shaking  her 
head  at  him  as  she  slowly  closed  the  door.  "I'm  going 
to  get  very,  very  little  sleep,  I  fear.  .  .  .  Jim?" 

"Yes." 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "Helen  is  a  charming,  clever, 
talented,  beautiful  girl.  If  you  are  afraid  my  behav- 
iour is  going  to  make  you  unhappy " 

"Steve,  are  you  crazy?" 

"Couldn't  you  fall  in  love  with  her?" 

"Do  you  want  me  to  try?" 

There  was  a  silence,  then  Stephanie  shook  her  head 
and  gently  closed  her  door. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

IN  July  Stephanie  asked  Harry  Belter  and  his  wife 
to  spend  a  week  at  Runner's  Rest.  They  arrived, 
the  husband  a  vastly  modified  edition  of  his  for- 
mer boisterous,  careless,  assertive  self — a  subdued 
young  man  now,  who  haunted  his  wife  with  edifying 
assiduity,  moving  when  she  moved,  sitting  when  she  sat, 
tagging  faithfully  at  her  dainty  heels  as  though  a  com- 
mon mind  originated  their  every  inclination. 

Philip  Grayson,  who  had  been  asked  with  them,  told 
Helen  that  the  Belters  had  bored  him  horribly  on  the 
journey  up. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "Harry  Belter  used  to  be  at 
least  amusing,  and  Marie  Cliff  was  certainly  a  sparkling 
companion.  But  they  seem  to  have  no  conversation 
except  for  each  other,  no  interests  outside  of  each  other, 
and  if  a  fellow  ventures  to  make  a  remark  they  either 
don't  listen  or  they  politely  make  an  effort  to  notice 
him." 

"You  can't  blame  them,"  smiled  Helen,  "after  three 
years  of  estrangement,  and  in  love  with  each  other  all 
the  while." 

She  was  seated  under  a  tree  on  the  edge  of  the  woods, 
half  way  up  the  western  slope  behind  Runner's  Rest. 
Grayson  lay  among  the  ferns  at  her  feet.  The  day  had 
turned  hot,  but  up  there  in  the  transparent  green  shad- 
ows of  the  woods  a  slight  breeze  was  stirring. 

"Estranged  all  that  time,  and  yet  in  love,"  repeated 

309 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Helen,  sentimentally,  spreading  out  a  fern  frond  on  her 
knees  and  smoothing  it.  "Do  you  wonder  that  they 
lose  no  time  together?" 

Grayson,  sprawling  on  his  stomach,  his  hand- 
some face  framed  in  both  hands,  emitted  a  scornful 
laugh. 

"You're  very  tender-hearted,  theoretically,"  he  said. 

The  girl  looked  up,  smiled: 

"Theoretically?"  she  inquired.  "What  do  you  mean, 
Phil?" 

"What  I  say.     Theoretically  you  are  tender-hearted, 

sympathetic,  susceptible.     But  practically "     His 

short  laugh  was  ironical. 

"Practically — what?"   demanded   the   girl,   flushing. 

"Practically,  you're  just  practical,  Helen.  You're 
nice  to  everybody,  impartially ;  you  go  about  your 
sculpture  with  the  cheerful  certainty  of  genius ;  noth- 
ing ever  disconcerts  you;  you  are  always  the  cool, 
freshly  gowned,  charmingly  poised  embodiment  of  ev- 
erything lovely  and  desirable — wonderful  to  look  at, 
engaging  and  winsome  to  talk  to — and — and  all  marble 
inside !" 

"Phil !     You  unpleasant  wretch !" 

"Therefore,"  he  said  deliberately,  "when  you  senti- 
mentalize over  the  Belters  and  how  they  loved  each  other 
madly  for  several  years  after  having  bounced  each 
other,  your  enthusiasm  leaves  me  incredulous." 

."The  trouble  with  every  man  is  this,"  she  said ;  "any 
girl  who  doesn't  fall  in  love  with  him  is  heartless — all 
marble  inside — merely  because  she  doesn't  flop  when  he 
expects  it.  He  gives  that  girl  no  credit  for  warm  hu- 
manity unless  she  lavishes  it  on  him.  If  she  doesn't, 
she's  an  iceberg  and  he  sticks  that  label  on  her  for 
life." 

370 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Grayson  sat  up  among  the  ferns  and  gathered  his 
legs  under  him : 

"It  isn't  because  you  don't  care  for  me,"  he  said, 
"but  I  tell  you,  Helen,  you're  too  complete  in  yourself 
to  fall  in  love." 

"Self-satisfied?  Thanks!"  But  she  still  did  not  be- 
lieve he  meant  it. 

"You  are  conscious  of  your  self-sufficiency,"  he  said 
coolly.  "You  are  beautiful  to  look  at,  but  your  mind 
controls  your  heart ;  you  do  with  your  heart  what  you 
choose  to  do."  He  added,  half  to  himself:  "It  would  be 
wonderful  if  you  ever  let  it  go.  But  you're  far  too 
practical  and  complacent  to  do  that." 

"Let  what  go?" 

"Your  heart.     You  really  have  one,  you  know." 

The  pink  tint  of  rising  indignation  still  lingered  on 
her  cheeks ;  she  looked  at  this  presumptuous  young  man 
with  speculative  brown  eyes,  realizing  that  for  the  first 
time  in  his  three  years'  sweet-tempered  courtship  he  had 
said  something  unpleasantly  blunt  and  virile  to  her — 
unacceptable  because  of  the  raw  truth  in  it. 

This  was  not  like  Phil  Grayson — this  sweet-tem- 
pered, gentle,  good-looking  writer  of  a  literature  which 
might  be  included  under  the  term  of  belles  lettres — 
this  ornamental  young  fellow  whose  agreeable  devo- 
tion she  had  come  to  take  for  granted — whose  rare 
poems  pleased  her  critical  taste  and  flattered  it  when 
she  saw  them  printed  in  the  most  exclusive  of  periodicals 
and  hailed  effusively  by  the  subtlest  of  critics. 

"Phil,"  she  said,  her  brown  eyes  resting  on  him  with 
a  curiosity  not  free  from  irritation,  "is  this  really  what 
you  think  I  am — after  all  these  years  of  friendship?" 

"It  really  is,  Helen." 

Into  her  hurt  face  came  the  pink  tint  of  wrath  again ; 

371 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


but  she  sat  quite  still,  her  head  lowered,  pulling  fronds 
from  the  fern  on  her  lap. 

"I'm  sorry  if  you're  offended,"  he  said  cheerfully, 
and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

Helen's  troubled  face  cooled;  she  tore  tiny  shreds  of 
living  green  from  the  fern ;  her  remote  eyes  rested  on 
him,  on  the  blue  hills  across  the  valley,  on  the  river  be- 
low them,  sparkling  under  the  July  sun. 

Down  there,  Marie  Belter,  with  her  red  parasol,  was 
sauntering  across  the  pasture,  and  Harry  paddled  faith- 
fully beside  her,  fanning  his  features  with  his  straw 
hat. 

"There  goes  Marie  and  Fido,"  said  Grayson,  laugh- 
ing. "Good  Lord!  After  all,  it's  a  dog's  life  at  any 
angle  you  care  to  view  it." 

"What  is  a  dog's  life?"  inquired  Helen  crisply. 

"Marriage,  dear  child." 

"Oh.     Do  you  view  it  that  way?" 

"I  do.  .  .  .  But  we  dogs  were  invented  for  it.  After 
all,  I  suppose  we  prefer  to  live  our  dogs'  lives  to  any 
other — we  human  Fidos " 

"Phil!  You  never  before  gave  me  any  reason  to 
believe  you  a  cynical  materialist.  And  you  have 
been,  very  unjust  and  disagreeable  to  me.  Do  you 
know  it?" 

"I'm  tired  of  running  at  your  heels,  I  suppose.  .  .  . 
A  dog  knows  when  he's  welcome.  .  .  .  After  a  while  the 
lack  of  mutual  sympathy  gets  on  his  nerves,  and  he 
strays  by  the  roadside.  .  .  .  And  sometimes,  if  lonely, 
the  owner  of  another  pair  of  heels  will  look  behind  her 
and  find  him  paddling  along.  .  .  .  That's  the  life  of 
the  dog,  Helen — with  exceptions  like  that  cur  of  Bill 
Sykes.  But  the  great  majority  of  pups  won't  stay 
where  they're  lonely  for  such  love  as  they  offer.  For 

372 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


your  dog  must  have  love.   .  .   .     The  love  of  the  human 
god  he  worships.     Or  of  some  other  god." 

He  laughed  lightly: 

"And  I,  who  worship  a  goddess  for  her  divine  genius 
and  her  loveliness — I  have  trotted  at  her  heels  a  long, 
long  time,  Helen,  and  I'm  just  beginning  to  under- 
stand, in  my  dog's  heart,  that  my  divinity  does  not 
want  me." 

"I— I  do  want  you !" 

"No,  you  don't.  You  haven't  enough  emotion  in 
you  to  want  anybody.  You're  too  complete,  too  self- 
satisfied,  too  intellectual,  too  clever  to  understand  a 
heart's  desire — the  swift,  unselfish,  unfeigned,  un- 
calculated  passion  that  makes  us  human.  There's 
nothing  to  you  but  intellect  and  beauty.  And  I'm  fed 
up!" 

The  girl  rose,  flushed  and  disconcerted  by  his  bru- 
tality. Grayson  got  up,  bland,  imperturbable,  accept- 
ing her  departure  pleasantly. 

She  meant  to  go  back  all  alone  down  the  hillside; 
that  was  evident  in  her  manner,  in  her  furious  calm- 
ness, in  her  ignoring  the  tiny  handkerchief  which  he 
recovered  from  the  moss  and  presented. 

She  was  far  too  angry  to  speak.  He  stood  under 
the  trees  and  watched  her  as  she  descended  the  hillside 
toward  the  house,  just  visible  below. 

Down  she  went  through  the  heated  wild  grass  and 
ferns,  stepping  daintily  over  gulleys,  avoiding  jutting 
rocks,  down,  ever  down  hill,  receding  farther  and  far- 
ther from  his  view  until,  a  long  way  below  him,  he  saw 
her  halt,  a  tiny,  distant  figure  shining  white  and  motion- 
less in  the  sun. 

He  waited  for  her  to  move  on  again  out  of  sight. 
She  did  not. 

373 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


After  a  long  while  he  saw  her  lift  one  arm  and  beckon 
him. 

"Am  I  a  Fido?"  he  asked  himself.  "Damn  it, 
I  believe  I  am."  And  he  started  leisurely  down 
hill. 

When  he  joined  her  where  she  stood  waiting,  her 
brown  eyes  avoided  his  glance  and  the  colour  in  her 
cheeks  grew  brighter. 

"If  you  believe,"  she  said,  "that  my  mind  controls  my 
heart,  why  don't  you  make  it  an  intellectual  argument 
with  me?  Why  not  appeal  to  my  reason?  Because  I 
— I  am  intelligent  enough  to  be  open  to  conviction — 
if  your  logic  proves  sounder  than — mine." 

"I  can't  make  love  to  you  logically.  Love  doesn't 
admit  of  it." 

"Love  is  logical — or  it's  piffle !" 

"I  don't  know  how  to  make  intellectual  love." 

"You'd  better  learn." 

"Could  you  give  me  a  tip?"  he  asked  timidly. 

Then  Helen  threw  back  her  pretty  head  and  began 
to  laugh  with  that  irresponsible,  unfeigned,  full- 
throated  and  human  laughter  that  characterized  the 
primitive  girl  when  her  naive  sense  of  humour  was  stir- 
red to  response  by  her  lover  of  the  cave. 

For  Helen  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  this  modern 
young  caveman's  intellectual  brutality  and  bad  temper 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  and  it  was  a  vital  revela- 
tion to  the  girl. 

He  had  whacked  her,  verbally,  violently,  until,  in  her 
infuriated  astonishment,  it  was  made  plain  to  her  that 
there  was  much  more  to  him  than  she  had  ever  reckoned 
with.  He  had  hurt  her  pride,  dreadfully,  he  had 
banged  her  character  about  without  mercy — handled 
her  with  a  disdainful  vigour  and  virility  that  opened 

374 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


her  complacent  brown  eyes  to  a  new  vision  and  a  new 
interpretation  of  man. 

"Phil,"  she  murmured,  "do  you  realize  that  you  were 
positively  common  in  what  you  said  to  me  up  on  that 
hill?" 

"I  know  I  was." 

"You  told  me "  a  slight  shudder  passed  over  her 

and  he  felt  it  in  the  shoulder  that  touched  his — "you 
told  me  that  you — you  were  'fed  up !' ' 

"I  was!" 

"And  you,  a  poet — a  man  with  an  almost  divine  fa- 
cility of  language " 

"Sure,"  he  said,  grinning;  "I'm  artist  enough  to 
know  the  value  of  vulgarity.  It  gives  a  wonderful 
punch,  Helen — once  in  a  lifetime." 

"Oh,  Phil!  You  horrify  me.  I  didn't  understand 
that  you  are  just  a  plain,  every-day,  bad-tempered, 
brutal,  selfish  and  violent  man " 

"Dearest,  I  am!  And  thank  God  you  are  woman 
enough  to  stand  for  it.  ...  Are  you?" 

They  had  reached  the  house  and  were  standing  on  the 
porch  now,  her  hands  restlessly  twisting  in  his  sun- 
browned  grasp,  her  pretty  head  averted,  refusing  to 
meet  his  eyes. 

"Are  you?"  he  repeated  sternly. 

"Am  I,  what?  Oh,  Phil,  you  hurt  me — my  rings 
hurt " 

"Then  don't  twist  your  fingers.  And  answer  me; 
are  you  woman  enough  to  stand  for  the  sort  of  every- 
day human  man  that  you  say  I  am?  Are  you?" 

She  said  something  under  her  breath. 

"Did  you  say  yes?"  he  demanded. 

She  nodded,  not  looking  at  him. 

Before  he  could  kiss  her  she  slid  out  of  his  grasp 

375 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


with  a  low  exclamation  of  warning,  and,  looking 
around,  he  beheld  the  Belters,  arm-in-arm,  approach- 
ing across  the  lawn. 

"Fido  !"  he  muttered,  "damn !"    And  he  followed  his 
divinity  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

HELEN  kept  her  own  council  as  long  as  che 
Belters  remained  at  Runner's  Rest,  but  as  soon 
as  they  had  departed  she  went  to  Stephanie's 
room  and  made  a  clean  breast  of  it. 

"What  on  earth  do  you  suppose  has  happened  to 
me,  Steve?"  she  demanded,  standing  by  the  day-bed  on 
which  Stephanie  was  stretched  out  reading  a  novel  and 
absorbing  chocolates. 

"What?"  asked  Stephanie,  lifting  her  grey  eyes. 

"Well,  there's  the  very  deuce  to  pay  with  Phil  Gray- 
son.  He  isn't  a  bit  nice  to  me.  He  isn't  like  himself. 
He  bullies  me." 

"Why  do  you  let  him?" 

"I — don't  know.  I  resent  it.  He's  entirely  too  bossy. 
He's  taken  possession  of  me  and  he  behaves  abomin- 
ably." 

"Sentimentally?" 

"Yes." 

"But  you  don't  have  to  endure  it !"  exclaimed  Steph- 
anie, astonished. 

"If  I  don't  submit,"  said  Helen,  "I  shall  lose  him. 
He'll  go  away.  He  says  he  will." 

"Well,  do  you  care  what  Phil  Grayson  does?"  de- 
manded Stephanie,  amazed. 

Then  that  intellectual,  capable,  intelligent  and  su- 
perbly healthy  girl  flopped  down  on  her  knees  by  Steph- 

377 


anie's  day-bed  and,  laying  her  lovely  head  on  the  pillow, 
began  to  whimper. 

"I — I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me,"  she 
stammered,  "but  my  mind  is  full  of  that  wretched  man 
every  minute  of  the  day  and  half  of  the  night.  He  is 
absolutely  shameless ;  he  makes  love  to  me  t-tyranically. 
It's  impossible  for  a  girl  to  keep  her  reserve — her  d-dig- 
nity  with  a  m-man  who  takes  her  into  his  arms  and 
k-kisses  her  whenever  he  chooses " 

"What!"  cried  Stephanie,  sitting  bolt  upright  and 
staring  at  her  friend.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
Phil  is  that  sort  of  man?" 

"I  didn't  think  so,  either,"  explained  Helen.  "I've 
known  him  for  ages.  He's  been  so  considerate  and  at- 
tentive and  sweet  to  me — so  gentle  and  self-effacing. 
I  thought  I  could  c-count  on  him.  But  a  girl  can't  tell 
anything  about  a  man — even  when  he's  been  an  old  and 
trusted  friend  of  years." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  asked  Steph- 
anie, blankly. 

"Do?  I  suppose  I'll  go  on  doing  what  he  wishes.  I 
suppose  I'll  marry  him.  It  looks  that  way.  I  don't 
seem  to  have  any  will  power.  .  .  .  It's  such  an  odd 
sensation  to  be  bullied." 

"Are  you  in  love  with  him?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  suppose  I  am.  It  makes  me  simply 
furious.  .  .  .  But  I  guess  I  am,  Steve.  ...  If  he'd 
behaved  as  agreeably  and  pleasantly  as  he  always  had 
behaved  I  should  never  have  cared  for  him  except  in  a 
friendly  way.  He  always  has  paid  his  courtship  to  me 
in  the  nicest  way.  ...  It  was  quite  ideal,  not  dis- 
turbing, and  we  exchanged  intellectual  views  quite  hap- 
pily and  contentedly.  .  .  .  And  then,  suddenly  he — 
he  flew  into  a  most  frightful  temper  and  he  told  me 

378 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


that  he  was  'fed  up!'  My  dear,  can  you  imagine  my 
rage  and  amazement?  .  .  .  And  then  he  told  me  what 
he  thought  of  me — oh,  Steve ! — the  most  horrid  things 
ever  said  about  a  girl  he  said  to  me !  I  was  breathless  ! 
I  felt  as  though  he  had  beaten  me  and  dragged  me  about 
by  my  hair.  .  .  .  And  then — I  don't  know  how  it  hap- 
pened— but  I  w-waited  for  him,  and  we  walked  home 
together,  and  I  understood  him  to  say  that  I'd  got 
to  love  him  if  I  were  a  human  girl.  .  .  .  And  I 
am.  .  .  .  So — it's  that  way  now  with  us.  .  .  .  And 
when  I  think  about  it  I  am  still  bewildered  and  furious 
with  him.  .  .  .  But  I  don't  dare  let  him  go.  ... 
There  are  other  girls,  you  know." 

Stephanie  lay  very  still.  Helen  rose  presently, 
turned  and  walked  slowly  to  the  door.  There  she 
paused  for  a  moment,  then  turned.  And  Stephanie 
saw  in  her  brown  eyes  an  expression  entirely  new  to 
her. 

"Helen !    You  are  in  love  with  him !"  she  said. 

"I'm  afraid  I  am.  .  .  .  Anyway,  I  shall  not  let  him 
go  until  I  am  quite  certain.  .  .  .  It's  abominable  that 
he  should  have  made  of  me  a  thing  with  which  I  never 
have  had  any  patience — a  girl  whose  heart  has  run 
away  with  her  senses.  And  that's  what  he  has  done  to 
me,  I'm  afraid." 

Stephanie  suddenly  flushed: 

"If  he  has,"  she  said,  "you  ought  to  be  glad!  You 
are  free  to  marry  him  if  you  love  him,  and  you  ought 
to  thank  God  for  the  privilege." 

"Yes.  But  what  is  marriage  going  to  do  to  my 
work?  I  never  meant  to  marry.  I've  been  afraid  to. 
What  happens  to  a  girl's  creative  work  if  her  heart  is 
full  of  something  else — full  of  her  lover — her  husband 
—children,  perhaps — new  duties,  new  cares!  ...  I 

379 


didn't  want  to  love  this  man.  I  loved  my  work.  It 
took  all  of  me.  It's  the  very  devil  to  have  a  thing  like 
this  happen.  It  scares  me.  I  can't  think  of  my  work 
now.  It  bores  me  to  recollect  it.  My  mind  and  heart 
are  full  of  this  man ! — there's  no  room  in  it  for  anything 
else.  .  .  .  What  is  this  going  to  do  to  my  career? 
That's  what  frightens  me  to  think  about.  .  .  .  And  I 
can't  give  up  sculpture,  and  I  won't  give  up  Phil!  Oh, 
Steve,  it's  the  very  deuce  of  a  mess — it  really  is.  And 
you  lie  there  eating  chocolates  and  reading  piffle,  and 
you  calmly  tell  me  to  thank  God  that  I  am  free  to 
marry !" 

Stephanie's  clear  grey  eyes  regarded  her: 

"If  you're  any  good,"  she  said,  "your  career  will  be- 
gin from  the  moment  you  fell  in  love.  Love  clears  the 
mind  wonderfully.  You  learn  a  lot  about  yourself 
when  you  fall  in  love.  ...  I  learned  that  I  had  no 
talent,  nothing  to  express.  That's  what  love  has  done 
for  me.  But  you  will  learn  what  genius  really  means." 

Helen  came  slowly  back  to  where  the  girl  was  lyir.~. 

"You  are  in  love,  then,"  she  said  gently.  "I  v.as 
afraid." 

"I  am  afraid,  too." 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"Do  you  ever  mean  to  live  with  Oswald?"  asked 
Helen. 

"Not  if  I  can  avoid  it." 

"Can  you  not?" 

"Yes,  I  can  avoid  it — unless  the  price  of  immunity  is 
too  heavy." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"I  know  you  don't.  Neither  does  Jim.  It's  a  rather 
ghastly  situation." 

"You  are  not  at  liberty  to  explain  it,  are  you?" 

380 


"No." 

Helen  bent  and  laid  her  hand  on  Stephanie's  hair: 

"I'm  sorry.  I  knew  you  were  falling  in  love.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  help  for  either  of  you." 

"No,  no  help.  One  can't  help  one's  heart's  inclina- 
tions. The  only  thing  we  can  control  is  our  behaviour." 

"Steve,  are  you  unhappy?" 

"I'm  beginning  to  be.  ...  I  didn't  think  I  would 
be — it's  so  wonderful.  .  .  .  But  the  seriousness  of  love 
reveals  itself  sooner  or  later.  ...  A  girl  begins  to 
understand.  .  .  .  All  we  want  is  to  give,  if  we're  in 
love.  .  .  .  It's  tragic  when  we  can't."  She  turned  her 
face  abruptly  and  laid  one  arm  across  her  eyes. 

Helen  sank  to  her  knees  again  and  laid  her  cool  face 
against  Stephanie's  flushed  cheek. 

"Darling,"  she  said,  "there  must  be  some  way  for 
you." 

"No  honourable  way." 

"But  that  marriage  is  a  farce." 

"Yes.    I  made  it  so.  .  .  .    But  Oswald  cares  for  me." 

"Still?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  He  is  a  very  wonderful,  generous,  un- 
happy man ;  proud,  deeply  sensitive,  tender-hearted,  and 
loyal.  I  can  not  sacrifice  him.  He  has  done  too  much 
for  my  sake.  .  .  .  And  I  promised " 

"What?" 

"I  promised  him  to  give  myself  as  long  a  time  as  he 
wished  to  learn  whether  I  could  ever  come  to  love 
him." 

"Does  he  know  you  are  in  love?" 

"No." 

"What  would  he  do  if  he  knew?" 

Stephanie  began  to  tremble: 

"I — don't  know,"  she  stammered,  " — he  must  never 

381 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


think  that  I  am  in  love  with  Jim.  ...     It  would  be — 
dreadful — terrible " 

She  sat  up,  covering  her  face  with  both  hands: 

"Don't  ask  me!  Don't  talk  about  it!  There  are 
things  I  can't  tell  you — things  I  can't  do,  no  matter 
what  happens  to  me — no  matter  whether  I  am  un- 
happy— whether  Jim  is " 

"Don't  cry,  darling.    I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you 

"Oh,  Helen !  Helen !  There's  something  that  hap- 
pened which  I  can't  ever  forget.  It  terrifies  me. 
There's  no  way  out  of  this  marriage  for  me — there's  no 
way!  No  way!"  she  repeated  desolately.  .  .  .  "And 
I'm  so  deeply  in  love — so  deeply — deeply " 

She  flung  herself  on  her  face  and  buried  her  head  in 
her  arms. 

"Just  let  me  alone,"  she  sobbed.  "I  can't  talk  about 
it.  I — I'm  glad  you're  happy,  dear.  But  please  go 
out,  now!" 

Helen  ror^  and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  down  at 
the  slender  figure  in  its  jewelled  kimono  and  its  tumbled 
splendour  of  chestnut  hair.  Then  she  went  out  very 
quietly. 

On  the  porch  her  audacious  young  man  and  Cleland 
were  smoking  and  consulting  time-tables,  and  she  gave 
the  former  a  swift  glance  which  questioned  his  inten- 
tions. He  seemed  to  comprehend,  for  he  said: 

"It's  Jim.  He's  been  talking  to  Oswald  on  the  long 
distance  wire,  and  he's  going  down  to  town  to  see  the 
model  that  Oswald  has  made." 

"Are  you  going,  too?"  she  asked. 

"Not  until  you  do,"  he  said  boldly. 

Helen  blushed  furiously  and  glanced  at  Cleland,  but 
he  had  not  paid  them  any  attention,  apparently,  for  he 
rose  with  an  absent  air  and  went  into  the  house. 

382 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Steve!"  he  called  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  "I'm 
going  to  town  to-night,  if  you  don't  mind." 

There  was  no  answer.  He  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs 
and  glanced  through  her  door,  which  was  partly  open. 
Then  he  went  in. 

She  did  not  hear  him,  nor  was  she  aware  of  his  pres- 
ence until  she  felt  his  questioning  hand  on  her  tumbled 
hair.  Then  she  turned  over,  looked  up  into  his  anxious 
face,  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him  in  a  sudden  passion 
of  loneliness  and  longing,  and  drew  him  convulsively 
to  her  breast  with  a  little  sob  of  surrender.  And  the 
next  instant  she  had  slipped  through  his  arms  to  the 
floor,  sprung  to  her  feet,  and  now  stood  breathing 
fast  and  unevenly  as  he  rose,  half  dazed,  to  confront 
her. 

"Jim,"  she  said  unsteadily,  "I  had  better  go  back. 
I'm  losing  my  head  here  with  you — here  under  dad's 
roof.  Do  you  hear  what  I  say?  I  can't  trust  myself. 
I  can't  remain  here  and  tear  dad's  honour  to  shreds 
just  because  I've  gone  mad  about  you.  .  .  .  I'm  going 
back." 

"Where?" 

"To  Oswald." 

"What !" 

"It's  the  only  safety  for  us.  There's  no  use.  No 
hope,  either.  And  it's  too  dangerous — with  no  outlook, 
no  possible  chance  "that  waiting  may  help  us.  There's 
not  a  ghost  of  a  chance  that  we  ever  can  marry.  That 
is  the  real  peril  for  us.  ...  So — I'll  play  the 
game.  .  .  .  I'll  go  to  him  now — before  it's  too  late, — 
before  you  and  I  have  made  each  other  wretched  for 
life — and  before  I  have  something  still  worse  on  my 
conscience !" 

"What?" 

383 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"My  husband's  death !  He'll  kill  himself  if  I  let  you 
take  me  away  somewhere." 

After  a  silence  he  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"Is  that  what  you  have  been  afraid  of?" 

"Yes." 

"You  believe  he  will  kill  himself  if  you  divorce 
him?" 

"I — I  am  certain  of  it." 

"Why  are  you  certain?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  why." 

He  said  coolly: 

"Men  don't  do  that  sort  of  thing  as  a  rule.  Weak 
intellects  seek  that  refuge  from  trouble ;  but  his  is  not 
a  weak  character." 

"I  won't  talk  about  it,"  she  said.  "I've  told  you 
more  than  I  ever  meant  to.  Now  you  know  where  I 
stand,  what  I  fear — his  death! — if  I  dishonour  dad's 
memory  and  go  away  with  you.  And  if  I  ask  divorce, 
he  will  give  it  to  me — and  then  kill  himself.  Do  you 
think  I  could  accept  even  you  on  such  terms  as  these?" 

"No,"  he  said. 

He  looked  at  her  intently.  She  stood  there  very 
white,  now,  her  grey  eyes  and  the  masses  of  chestnut 
hair  accentuating  her  pallour. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "I'll  take  you  to  town." 

"You  need  not." 

"Won't  you  let  me?" 

"Yes,  if  you  wish.  .  .  .  When  you  go  downstairs, 
tell  them  to  send  up  my  trunks.  Tell  one  of  the  maids 
to  come." 

"You  can't  go  off  this  way,  to-night.  You've  two 
guests  here,"  he  said  in  a  dull  voice. 

"You  will  be  here." 

"No." 

384 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Why  not?" 

"Oswald  called  me  on  the  long  distance  wire  an  hour 
ago.  He  has  asked  me  to  go  to  town  and  look  at  the 
sketch  he  has  made  for  the  fountain.  I  said  I'd  go." 

She  dropped  to  the  couch  and  sat  there  with  grey 
eyes  remote,  her  shoulders,  in  their  jewelled  kimono, 
huddled  under  her  heavy  mass  of  hair. 

"Stay  here  for  a  while,  anyway,"  he  said.  "There's 
no  use  taking  such  action  until  you  have  thought  it 
over.  And  such  action  is  not  necessary,  Steve." 

"It  is." 

"No.  There  is  a  much  simpler  solution  for  us  both. 
I  shall  go  abroad." 

"What!"  she  exclaimed  sharply,  lifting  her  head. 

"Of  course.  Why  should  you  be  driven  into  the  arms 
of  a  husband  you  do  not  love  just  because  you  are 
afraid  of  what  you  and  I  might  do?  That  would  be  a 
senseless  proceeding,  Steve.  The  thing  to  do  is  to  rid 
yourself  of  me  and  live  your  life  as  you  choose." 

She  laid  her  head  on  her  hands,  pressing  her  fore- 
head against  her  clenched  fingers. 

"That's  the  only  thing  to  do,  I  guess,"  he  said  in  his 
euriously  colourless  voice.  "I  came  too  late.  I'm  pay- 
ing for  it.  I'll  go  back  to  Paris  and  stay  for  a  while. 
Time  does  things  to  people." 

She  nodded  her  bowed  head. 

"Time,"  he  said,  "forges  an  armour  on  us  all.  .  .  . 
I'll  wait  until  mine  is  well  riveted  before  I  return. 
You're  quite  right,  Steve.  .  .  .  You  and  I  can't  go  on 
this  way.  There  would  come  a  time  when  the  intense 
strain  would  break  us  both — break  down  our  resolu- 
tion and  our  sense  of  honour — and  we'd  go  away  to- 
gether— or  make  each  other  wretched  here.  .  .  .  Be- 
cause there's  no  real  happiness  for  you  and  me  without 

385 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


honour,  Steve.     Some  people  can  do  without  it.     We 
can't. 

"We  mip-ht  come  to  think  we  could.  We  might  take 
the  chance.  We  might  repeat  the  stale  old  phrase 
and  try  to  'count  the  world  well  lost.'  But  there  would 
be  no  happiness  for  you  and  me,  Steve.  For,  to  peo- 
ple of  our  race,  happiness  is  composite.  Honesty  is 
part  of  it ;  loyalty  to  ideals  is  another ;  the  world's  re- 
spect, the  approval  of  our  own  hearts,  the  recognition 
of  our  responsibility  to  the  civilization  that  depends  on 
such  as  we — all  these  are  part  of  the  only  kind  of  hap- 
piness that  you  and  I  can  understand  and  experi- 
ence. ...  So  we  must  give  it  up.  .  .  .  And  the  best 
way  is  the  way  I  offer.  .  .  .  Let  me  go  out  of  your 
life  for  a  while.  .  .  .  Live  your  own  life  as  you  care 
to  live  it.  ...  Time  must  do  whatever  else  is  to  be 
done." 

The  girl  lifted  her  dishevelled  head  and  looked  at 
him. 

"Are  you  going  to-night?" 

"Yes." 

"You  are  not  coming  back?" 

"No,  dear." 

She  dropped  her  head  again. 

There  was  a  train  at  four  that  afternoon.  He  took 
a  gay  and  casual  leave  of  Helen  and  Grayson,  where 
he  found  them  reading  together  in  the  library. 

"Will  you  be  back  to-morrow?"  inquired  the  latter. 

"I'm  not  sure.  I  may  be  detained  for  some  time," 
said  Cleland  carelessly.  And  went  upstairs. 

Stephanie,  frightfully  pale,  came  to  her  door.  Her 
hair  was  dressed  and  she  was  gowned  for  the  after- 
noon. She  tried  to  speak  but  no  sound  came  from  her 
colourless  lips ;  and  she  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders 

386 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


in  silence.  Their  lips  scarcely  touched  before  they 
parted;  but  their  eyes  clung  desperately. 

"Good-bye,  dear." 

"Good-bye,"  she  whispered. 

"You  know  I  love  you.  You  know  I  shall  never  love 
another  woman?" 

"Try  to — forget  me,  Jim." 

"I  can't." 

"I  can't  forget  you,  either.  .  .  .  I'm  sorry,  dear. 
I  wish  you  had  me.  .  .  .  I'd  give  you  anything,  Jim — 
anything.  Don't  you  know  it?" 

"Yes." 

She  laid  her  head  on  his  breast,  rested  a  moment, 
then  lifted  it,  not  looking  at  him,  and  turned  slowly 
back  into  her  room. 

It  was  dark  when  he  arrived  in  New  York.  The 
flaring  streets  of  the  city  seemed  horrible  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

WASHINGTON  SQUARE  seemed  to  him  a  lit- 
tle cooler  than  the  streets  to  the  northward ; 
the  white  arch,  the  trees,  the  splash  of  water 
made  a  difference.  But  beyond,  southward,  narrow 
streets  and  lanes  were  heavy  with  the  close,  hot  odours 
of  the  slums — a  sickening  smell  of  over-ripe  fruit  piled 
on  push-carts,  the  reek  of  raw  fish,  of  sour  malt  from 
saloons — a  subtler  taint  of  opium  from  blind  alleys 
where  Chinese  signs  hung  from  rusting  iron  balconies. 

Through  cracks  between  drawn  curtains  behind  the 
window  of  Grismer's  basement  studio,  light  glimmered; 
and  when  Cleland  pulled  the  bell-wire  in  the  area  he 
could  hear  the  crazy,  cracked  bell  jangling  inside. 

Grismer  came. 

For  a  second  he  hesitated  behind  the  iron  area  gate, 
then  recognizing  her  visitor  opened  for  him. 

They  shook  hands  with  a  pleasant,  commonplace 
word  or  two  of  civility,  and  walked  together  through 
the  dark,  hot  passageway  into  the  lighted  basement. 

"It's  devilish  hot,"  said  Grismer.  "There's  probably 
a  storm  brewing  over  Staten  Island." 

He  looked  colourless  and  worn.  There  was  a  dew  of 
perspiration  on  his  forehead,  which  dampened  the 
thick  amber-gold  hair.  He  wore  only  a  gauze  under- 
shirt, trousers  and  slippers,  under  which  his  supple, 
graceful  figure  was  apparent. 

"Grismer,"  said  Cleland  uneasily,  "this  cellar  is  hell 

388 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


in  July.  Why  won't  you  come  up  to  Runner's  Rest 
for  the  hot  period  ?  You  can't  do  anything  here.  You 
can't  stand  it." 

Grismer  fished  a  siphon  out  of  his  ice-box  and  looked 
around  with  a  questioning  smile.  "I've  some  orange 
juice.  Would  you  like  some?" 

Cleland  nodded  and  walked  over  to  a  revolving  table 
on  which  the  wax  model  of  his  fountain  stood.  Grismer 
presently  came  up  beside  him  with  both  glasses,  and  he 
took  his  with  an  absent  nod,  but  continued  to  examine 
the  model  in  silence. 

"Probably  you  don't  care  for  it,"  s-uggested  Grismer. 

Cleland  said  slowly : 

"You  gave  me  a  different  idea.  I  didn't  know  you 
were  going  to  do  anything  like  this." 

"I'm  afraid  you  are  disappointed." 

"No.  .  .  .  It's  beautiful,  Grismer.  I  hadn't  thought 
that  a  figure  would  be  possible,  considering  the  char- 
acter of  the  place  and  the  very  simple  and  primitive 
surroundings.  But  this  is  in  perfect  taste  and  amaz- 
ingly in  accord  with  everything." 

He  looked  at  the  slim,  naked,  sinuous  figure — an  In- 
dian girl  of  fifteen  drinking  out  of  cupped  hands.  Wild 
strawberry  vines  in  full  fruit  bound  her  hair,  which  fell 
in  two  clubbed  braids  to  her  shoulders.  A  narrow 
breadth  of  faun-skin  fell  from  a  wampum  girdle  to  her 
knees.  And,  from  the  thin  metal  forehead-fillet,  the 
head  of  a  snake  reared,  displaying  every  fang. 

"It's  the  Lake-Serpent,  isn't  it? — the  young  Oneida 
girl  of  the  Iroquois  legend?"  inquired  Cleland. 

Grismer  nodded. 

"That's  your  country,"  he  said.  "The  Iroquois  war- 
trail  passed  through  your  valley  and  down  the  river 
to  Charlemont  and  Old  Deerfield.  I  read  up  on  it. 

389 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


The  story  of  the  Lake-Serpent  and  the  Eight  Thunders 
fascinated  me.  I  thought  the  thing  might  be  done." 

"You've  done  it.    It's  stunning." 

"The  water,"  explained  Grismer,  "flows  out  of  her 
hollowed  hands,  out  of  the  serpent's  throat  and  down 
each  braid  of  hair,  dripping  on  her  shoulders.  Her  en- 
tire body  will  appear  to  be  all  glimmering  with  a  thin 
skin  of  running  water.  I  shall  use  the  'serpent  spot' 
on  her  forehead  like  a  caste-mark,  I  think.  And  what 
I  want  to  get  is  an  effect  from  a  fine  cloud  of  spray 
which  will  steam  up  from  the  basin  at  her  feet  like  the 
'cloud  on  the  water'  which  the  legend  speaks  of.  I  can 
get  it  by  an  arrangement  of  very  minute  orifices  through 
which  spray  will  rush  and  hang  over  the  water  in  a 
sort  of  rainbow  mist.  Do  you  think  that  would  be  all 
right?" 

"Of  course.  It's  a  masterpiece,  Grismer,"  said  the 
other  quietly. 

Into  Grismer's  pale  face  a  slow  colour  came  and 
spread. 

"That's  worth  living  for,"  he  said. 

"What?" 

"I  said  that  I'm  glad  I  have  lived  to  hear  you  speak 
that  way  of  anything  I  have  done,"  said  Grismer  with 
a  smile. 

"I  don't  understand  why  you  should  care  about  my 
opinion,"  returned  Cleland,  turning  an  amused  and 
questioning  gaze  on  the  sculptor.  "I'm  no  critic,  you 
know." 

"I  know,"  nodded  Grismer,  with  his  odd  smile.  "But 
your  approval  means  more  than  any  critic  has  to  offer 
me.  .  .  .  There's  an  arm-chair  over  there,  if  you  care 
to  be  seated." 

Cleland  took  his  glass  of  iced  orange  juice  with  him. 

390 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Grismer  set  his  on  the  floor  and  dropped  onto  the  rag- 
ged couch. 

"Anybody  can  point  it  up  now,"  he  said.  "It  ought 
to  be  cast  in  silver-grey  bronze,  not  burnished — a  trifle 
over  life-size." 

"You  must  have  worked  like  the  devil  to  have  finished 
this  in  such  a  brief  period." 

"Oh,  I  work  that  way — when  I  do  work.  .  .  .  I've 
been  anxious — worried  over  what  you  might  think.  .  .  . 
I'm  satisfied  now." 

He  filled  and  lighted  his  pipe,  leaned  back  clasping 
his  well-made  arms  behind  his  head. 

"Cleland,"  he  said,  "it's  a  strange  sensation  to  feel 
power  within  one's  self — be  conscious  of  it,  certain  of 
it,  and  deliberately  choose  not  to  use  it.  ...  And  the 
very  liberty  of  choice  is  an  added  power." 

Cleland  looked  up,  perplexed.  Grismer  smiled,  and 
his  smile  seemed  singularly  care-free  and  tranquil: 

"Just  think,"  he  said,  "what  the  gods  could  have 
done  if  they  had  taken  the  trouble  to  bestir  themselves ! 
What  they  did  do  makes  volumes  of  mythology:  what 
they  refrained  from  doing  would  continue  in  the  telling 
through  all  eternity.  What  they  did  betrayed  their 
power,"  he  added,  with  a  whimsical  gesture  toward  his 
fountain ;  "but  what  they  refrained  from  doing  inter- 
ests me,  Cleland — fascinates  me,  arouses  my  curiosity, 
my  respect,  my  awe,  and  my  gratitude  that  they  were 
godlike  enough  to  disdain  display — that  they  were  de- 
cent enough  to  leave  to  the  world  material  to  feed  its 
imagination." 

Cleland  smiled  sombrely  at  Grismer's  whimsical 
humour,  but  his  features  settled  again  into  grave,  care- 
worn lines,  and  his  absent  gaze  rested  on  nothing.  And 
Grismer's  golden  eyes  studied  him. 

391 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"It  must  be  pleasant  out  there  in  the  country,"  he 
said  casually. 

"It's  cool.  You  must  go  there,  Grismer.  This  place 
is  unendurable.  Do  go  up  while  Phil  Grayson  is 
there." 

"Is  there  anybody  else?" 

"Helen — and  Stephanie,"  he  said,  using  her  name 
with  an  effort.  "The  Belters  were  there  for  a  week. 
No  doubt  Stephanie  will  ask  other  people  during  the 
summer." 

"When  do  you  go  back?"  asked  Grismer  quietly. 

There  was  a  short  silence,  then  Cleland  said  in  a 
voice  of  forced  frankness: 

"I  was  about  to  tell  you  that  I'm  going  over  to  Paris 
for  a  while.  You  know  how  it  is — a  man  grows  restless 
— wants  to  run  over  and  take  a  look  at  the  place  just 
to  satisfy  himself  that  it's  still  there."  His  strained 
smile  remained  stamped  on  his  face  after  his  gaze 
shifted  from  Grismer's  penetrating  eyes — unsmiling, 
golden-deep  eyes  that  seemed  to  have  perceived  a  rent 
in  him,  and  were  looking  through  the  aperture  into  the 
secret  places  of  his  mind. 

"When  are  you  going,  Cleland?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Some  time  this  week,  if  I  can  get 
accommodations." 

"You  go  alone?" 

"Why— of  course !" 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  might  feel  that  Stephanie 
ought  to  see  Europe." 

"I  hadn't — considered " 

He  reddened,  took  a  swallow  of  his  orange  juice,  and, 
holding  the  glass,  turned  his  eyes  on  the  wax  model. 

"How  long  will  you  be  away?"  asked  Grismer  in  his 
still  and  singularly  agreeable  voice. 

392 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


There  was  another  silence.  Then  Cleland  made  a 
painful  effort  at  careless  frankness  once  more: 

"That  reminds  me,  Grismer,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  can't 
ever  repay  you  for  that  fountain,  but  I  can  do  my 
damndest  with  a  cheque-book  and  a  fountain  pen.  I 
should  feel  most  uncomfortable  if  I  went  away  leaving 
that  obligation  unsettled." 

He  drew  out  his  cheque-book  and  fountain  pen  and 
smiled  resolutely  at  Grismer,  whose  dark  golden  eyes 
rested  on  him  with  an  intentness  that  he  could  scarcely 
endure. 

"Would  you  let  me  give  it  to  you,  Cleland?" 

"I  can't,  Grismer.  .  .  .     It's  splendid  of  you." 

"I  shall  not  need  the  money,"  said  Grismer,  almost 
absently,  and  for  an  instant  his  gaze  grew  vague  and 
remote.  Then  he  turned  his  head  again,  where  it  lay 
cradled  on  his  clasped  hands  behind  his  neck:  "You 
won't  let  me  give  it  to  you,  I  know.  And  there's  no 
use  telling  you  that  I  shall  not  need  the  money.  You 
won't  believe  me.  .  .  .  You  won't  understand  how  ab- 
solutely meaningless  is  money  to  me — just  now.  Well, 
then — write  in  what  you  care  to  offer." 

"I  can't  do  that,  Grismer." 

The  other  smiled  and,  still  smiling,  named  a  figure. 
And  Cleland  wrote  it  out,  detached  the  cheque,  started 
to  rise,  but  Grismer  told  him  to  lay  it  on  the  table  be- 
side his  glass  of  orange  juice. 

"It's  a  thing  no  man  can  pay  for,"  said  Cleland, 
looking  at  the  model. 

Grismer  said  quietly: 

"The  heart  alone  can  pay  for  anything.  ...  A 
gift  without  it  is  a  cheque  unsigned.  .  .  .  Cleland,  I've 
spoken  to  you  twice  since  you  have  returned  from 
abroad — but  you  have  not  understood.  And  there  is 

393 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


much  unsaid  between  us.  It  must  be  said  some 
day.  .  .  .  There  are  questions  you  ought  to  ask  me. 
I'd  see  any  other  man  in  hell  before  I'd  answer.  But 
I'll  answer  you!" 

Cleland  turned  his  eyes,  heavy  with  care,  on  this  man 
who  was  speaking. 

Grismer  said: 

"There  are  three  things  in  the  world  which  I  have 
desired — to  stand  honourably  and  well  in  the  eyes  of 
such  people  as  your  father  and  you;  to  win  your  per- 
sonal regard  and  respect ;  to  win  the  love  of  Stephanie 
Quest." 

In  the  tense  silence  he  struck  a  match  and  relighted 
his  pipe.  It  went  out  again  and  grew  cold  while  he  was 
speaking : 

"I  lost  the  consideration  of  such  people  as  you  and 
your  father ;  in  fact,  I  never  gained  it  at  all.  .  .  .  And 
it  was  like  a  little  death  to  something  inside  me.  .  .  . 

And  as  for  Stephanie "    He  shook  his  head.    "No," 

he  said,  "there  was  no  love  in  her  to  give  me.  There  is 
none  now.  There  never  will  be." 

He  laid  aside  his  pipe,  clasped  his  hands  behind  his 
head  once  more  and  dropped  one  long  leg  over  the 
other. 

"You  won't  question  me.  I  suppose  it's  the  pride  in 
you,  Cleland.  But  my  pride  is  dead;  I  cut  its 
throat.  ...  So  I'll  tell  you  what  you  ought  to 
know. 

"I  always  was  in  love  with  her,  even  as  a  boy — after 
that  single  glimpse  of  her  there  in  the  railroad  station. 
It's  odd  how  such  things  really  happen.  Your  people 
had  no  social  interest  in  mine.  I  shall  use  a  more  sin- 
ister term:  your  father  held  my  father  in  con- 
tempt. ...  So  there  was  no  chance  for  me  to  know 

394 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


you  and  Stephanie  except  as  I  was  thrown  with  you  in 
school." 

He  smiled: 

"You  can  never  know  what  a  boy  suffers  who  is 
fiercely  proud,  who  is  ready  to  devote  himself  soul  and 
body  to  another  boy,  and  who  knows  that  he  is  con- 
sidered inferior.  ...  It  drives  him  to  strange  per- 
verseness,  to  illogical  excesses — to  anything  which  may 
conceal  the  hurt — the  raw,  quivering  heart  of  a 
boy.  ...  So  we  fought  with  fists.  You  remember. 
You  remember,  too,  probably,  many  things  I  said  and 
did  to  intensify  your  hostility  and  contempt — like  a 
hurt  thing  biting  at  its  own  wounds !" 

He  shrugged: 

"Well,  you  went  away.  Has  Stephanie  told  you  how 
she  and  I  met?" 

"Yes." 

"I  thought  she  would  tell  you,"  he  said  tranquilly. 
"And  has  she  told  you  about  our  unwise  be- 
haviour— our  informal  comradeship — reckless  esca- 
pades ?" 

"Yes." 

Grismer  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  him  intently. 

"And  has  she  related  the  circumstances  of  our  mar- 
riage?" he  asked. 

"Partly." 

Grismer  nodded. 

"I  mean  in  part.  There  were  many  things  she  re- 
fused to  speak  of,  were  there  not?" 

"Yes." 

He  slowly  unclasped  his  linked  fingers  and  leaned 
forward  on  the  couch,  groping  for  his  pipe.  When  he 
found  it  he  slowly  knocked  the  cinders  from  the  bowl, 
then  laid  it  aside  once  more. 

395 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Cleland,  I'll  have  to  tell  where  I  stood  the  day  that 
my  father  —  killed  himself." 


"Stephanie  knew  it.  There  had  been  a  suit  pend- 
ing, threatening  him.  .  .  .  For  years  the  fear  of  such 
a  thing  had  preyed  on  his  mind.  ...  I  never  dreamed 
there  was  any  reason  for  him  to  be  afraid.  .  .  .  But 
there  was." 

He  dropped  his  head  and  sat  for  a  few  moments 
thinking  and  playing  with  his  empty  pipe.  Then  : 

"Stephanie's  aunt  was  the  Nemesis.  She  became  ob- 
sessed with  the  belief  that  her  nephew  and  later,  Steph- 
anie, had  suffered  wickedly  through  my  father's  —  con- 
version of  trust  funds."  He  swallowed  hard  and  passed 
one  hand  over  his  eyes  :  "My  father  was  a  de- 
faulter. .  .  .  That  woman's  patience  was  infernal. 
She  never  ceased  her  investigations.  She  was  implac- 
able. And  she  —  got  him. 

"She  was  dying  when  the  case  was  ready.  Nobody 
knew  she  was  mortally  ill.  ...  I  suppose  my  father 
saw  disgrace  staring  him  in  the  face.  .  .  .  He  made  a 
last  effort  to  see  her.  He  did  see  her.  Stephanie  was 
there.  .  .  .  Then  he  went  away.  .  .  .  He  had  not 
been  well.  It  was  an  overdose  of  morphine." 

Grismer  leaned  forward,  clasping  his  hands  on  his 
knees  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  space. 

"The  money  that  I  inherited  was  considerable,"  he 
said  in  his  soft,  agreeable  voice.  "But  after  I  had  be- 
gun to  amuse  myself  with  it,  the  papers  in  the  suit 
were  sent  to  me  by  that  dead  woman's  attorneys.  So," 
he  said  pleasantly,  "I  learned  for  the  first  time  that 
the  money  belonged  to  Stephanie's  estate.  And,  of 
course,  I  transferred  it  to  her  attorneys  at  once.  .  .  . 
She  never  told  you  anything  of  this?" 

396 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"No." 

"No,"  said  Grismer  thoughtfully,  "she  couldn't  have 
told  you  without  laying  bare  my  father's  disgrace.  But 
that  is  how  I  suddenly  found  myself  on  my  uppers," 
he  continued  lightly.  "Stephanie  came  to  me  in  an 
agony  of  protest.  She  is  a  splendid  girl,  Cleland.  She 
rather  violently  refused  to  touch  a  penny  of  the  money. 
You  should  have  heard  what  she  said  to  her  aunt's  at- 
torneys— who  now  represented  her.  Really,  Cleland, 
there  was  the  devil  to  pay.  .  .  .  But  that  was  easy. 
I  paid  him.  Naturally,  I  couldn't  retain  a  penny.  .  .  . 
So  it  lies  there  yet,  accumulating  interest,  payable  at 
any  time  to  Stephanie's  order.  .  .  .  But  she'll  never 
use  it.  ...  Nor  shall  I,  Cleland.  .  .  .  God  knows 
who'll  get  it — some  charity,  I  hope.  .  .  .  After  I  step 
out,  I  think  Stephanie  will  give  it  to  some  charity  for 
the  use  of  little  children  who  have  missed  their  child- 
hood— children  like  herself,  Cleland." 

After  a  silence  he  idly  struck  a  match,  watched  it 
burn  out,  dropped  the  cinder  to  the  floor: 

"There  was  no  question  of  you  at  that  time,"  said 
Grismer,  lifting  his  eyes  to  Cleland's  drawn  face.  "And 
I  was  very  desperately  in  love.  .  .  .  There  seemed 
to  be  hope  that  Stephanie  might  care  for  me.  .  .  . 
Then  came  that  reckless  escapade  at  Albany,  where  she 
was  recognized  by  some  old  friends  of  your  father  and 
by  schoolmates  of  her  own.  .  .  . 

"Cleland,  I  would  gladly  have  shot  myself  then,  had 
that  been  any  solution.  But  there  seemed  to  be  only 
the  one  solution.  .  .  .  She  has  told  you,  I  believe?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  that  was  what  was  done.  ...  I  think  she 
cried  all  the  way  back.  The  Albany  Post  Road  seemed 
like  a  road  through  hell  to  me.  I  knew  then  that  Steph- 

397 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


anie  cared  nothing  for  me  in  that  way ;  that  my  place 
in  her  life  served  other  purposes. 

"I  don't  know  what  she  thought  I  expected  of  her — 
what  duty  she  believed  she  owed  me.  I  know  now  that 
the  very  thought  of  wifehood  was  abhorrent  to  her.  .  .  . 
But  she  was  game,  Cleland !  .  .  .  What  line  of  reason- 
ing she  followed  I  don't  know.  Whether  my  love  for 
her  touched  her,  or  some  generous  impulse  of  renuncia- 
tion— some  childish  idea  of  bringing  to  me  again  the 
inheritance  which  I  had  forced  on  her,  I  don't  know. 

"But  she  was  game.  She  came  here  that  night  with 
her  suitcase.  She  was  as  white  as  death,  could  scarcely 
speak.  ...  I  never  even  touched  her  hand,  Cle- 
land. .  .  .  She  slept  there — behind  that  curtain  on 
the  iron  bed.  I  sat  here  all  night  long. 

"In  the  morning  we  talked  it  over.  And  with  every 
generous  plucky  word  she  uttered  I  realized  that  it  was 
hopeless.  And  do  you  know — God  knows  how — but 
somehow  I  kept  thinking  of  you,  Cleland.  And  it  was 
like  clairvoyance,  almost,  for  I  could  not  drive  away 
the  idea  that  she  cared  for  you,  unknowingly,  and  that 
when  you  came  back  some  day  she'd  find  it  out." 

He  rose  from  the  couch  and  began  to  pace  the  studio 
slowly,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"Cleland,"  he  said,  "she  meant  to  play  the  game. 
The  bed  she  had  made  for  herself  she  was  ready  to  lie 
on.  .  .  .  But  I  looked  into  those  grey  eyes  of  hers 
and  I  knew  that  it  was  pity  that  moved  her,  square 
dealing  that  nerved  her,  and  that  already  she  was  suf- 
fering agonies  to  know  what  you  would  think  of  what 
she  had  done — done  with  a  man  you  never  liked — the 
son  of  a  man  whom  your  father  held  in  contempt  be- 
cause— because  he  considered  him — dishonest !" 

He  halted  a  pace  from  where  Cleland  was  sitting: 

398 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"I  told  her  to  go  back  to  her  studio  and  think  it 
over.  She  went  out.  ...  I  did  not  think  of  her  com- 
ing back  here.  ...  I  was  standing  in  front  of  that 
cracked  mirror  over  there.  .  .  .  To  get  a  sure  line  on 
my  temple.  .  .  .  That's  what  shattered  the  glass — 
when  she  struck  my  arm  up.  .  .  . 

"Well,  a  man  goes  to  pieces  sometimes.  .  .  .  She 
made  me  promise  to  wait  two  years — said  she  would  try 
to  care  for  me  enough  in  that  time  to  live  with  me.  .  .  . 
The  child  was  frightened  sick.  The  terror  of  my  ever 
doing  such  a — a  fool  thing  remains  latent  in  her  brain. 
I  know  it.  I  know  it's  there.  I  know,  Cleland,  that  she 
is  in  love  with  you.  And  that  she  dare  not  ask  me  for 
her  freedom  for  fear  that  I  shall  do  some  such  silly 
thing." 

He  began  to  laugh,  quite  naturally,  without  any  bit- 
terness at  all: 

"I  tried  to  make  you  understand.  I  told  you  that  I 
would  do  anything  for  you.  But  you  didn't  compre- 
hend. .  .  .  Yet,  I  meant  it.  I  mean  it  now.  She  be- 
longs to  you,  Cleland.  I  want  you  to  take  her.  I  wish 
her  to  understand  that  I  give  her  the  freedom  she's 
entitled  to.  That  she  need  not  be  afraid  to  take  it — 
need  not  fear  that  I  might  make  an  ass  of  my- 
self." 

He  laughed  again,  quite  gaily : 

"No,  indeed,  I  mean  to  live.  I  tell  you,  Cleland,  there 
is  no  excitement  on  earth  like  beating  Fate  at  her  own 
game.  There's  only  one  thing " 

After  a  pause,  Cleland  looked  up  into  the  man's  wist- 
ful, golden  eyes. 

"What  is  it,  Grismer?" 

"If  I  could  win — your  friendship " 

"Good  God !"  whispered  Cleland,  rising  and  offer- 

399 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


ing  a  hand  that  shook,  " — Do  you  think  I'm  worth  it, 
Oswald?" 

Their  hands  met,  clasped;  a  strange  light  flashed 
in  Grismer's  golden  eyes. 

"Do  you  mean  it,  Cleland?" 

"With  all  my  heart,  old  chap.  ...  I  don't  know 
what  to  say  to  you — except  that  you're  white  all 
through — straighter  than  I  am,  Grismer — clean  to  the 
soul  of  you!" 

Grismer  drew  a  long,  deep  breath. 

"Thanks,"  he  said.  "That's  about  all  I  want  of 
life.  .  .  .  Tell  Stephanie  what  you  said  to  me — if  you 
don't  mind.  ...  I  don't  care  what  others  think  .  .  . 
if  you  and  she  think  me  straight." 

"Oswald,  I  tell  you  you're  straighter  than  I  am — 
stronger.  Your  thoughts  never  wavered;  you  stood 
steady  to  punishment,  not  whimpering.  I've  had  a 
curb-bit  on  myself,  and  I  don't  know  now  how  long  it 
might  have  taken  me  to  get  it  between  my  teeth  and 
smash  things." 

Grismer  smiled: 

"It  would  have  taken  two  to  smash  the  Cleland  tra- 
ditions. It  couldn't  have  been  done — between  you  and 
Stephanie.  .  .  .  Are  you  going  back  to  Runner's  Rest 
to-night?" 

"Yes — if  you  say  so,"  he  replied  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  do  say  so.  Call  her  on  the  telephone  as  soon 
as  you  leave  here.  Then  take  the  first  train." 

"And  you?     Will  you  come?" 

"Not  to-night." 

"WTill  you  let  us  know  when  you  can  come,  Oswald?" 

Grismer  picked  up  a  shabby  dressing  gown  from 
the  back  of  a  decrepit  chair,  and  put  it  on  over  his 
undershirt  and  tr.ousers. 

400 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Sure,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "I've  one  or  two  mat- 
ters to  keep  me  here.  I'll  fix  them  up  to-night.  .  .  . 
And  please  make  it  very  plain  to  Stephanie  that  I'm 
taking  this  affair  beautifully  and  that  the  last  thing 
I'd  do  would  be  to  indulge  in  any  foolishness  to  shock 
her.  .  .  .  I'm  really  most  interested  in  living.  Tell 
her  so.  She  will  believe  it.  For  I  have  never  lied  to 
her,  Cleland." 

They  walked  together  to  the  area  gate. 

"Stephanie  should  see  her  attorneys,"  said  Grismer. 
"The  easiest  way,  I  think,  would  be  for  her  to  leave 
the  state  and  for  me  to  go  abroad.  Her  attorneys  will 
advise  her.  But,"  he  added  carelessly,  "there's  time 
to  talk  over  that  with  her.  The  main  thing  is  to  know 
that  she  will  be  free.  And  she  will  be.  ...  Good 
night,  Cleland!"  .  .  .  He  laughed  boyishly.  "I've 
never  been  as  happy  in  my  whole  life!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

WITH  the  clang  of  the  closing  gate,  Grismer's 
handsome  face  altered  terribly,  and  he  turned 
deathly  white  for  a  moment.     Two  police- 
men lounged  by  in  the  glare  of  the  arc-light ;  one  of 
them  glanced  down  into  the  areaway  and  saw  a  pallid 
face   behind   the   iron   bars — turned   sharply   to   look 
again. 

"Gee,"  he  said  to  his  mate,  "d'yeh  get  that  guy's 
map?" 

"Coke,"  said  the  other  carelessly.  "Looks  like  a 
feller  I  seen  in  Sing  Sing  waitin'  for  the  priest — what's 

his  name,  now "    The  voices  receded.     But  Grismer 

had  heard. 

Perhaps  his  brain  registered  the  scene  sketched  by 
the  policeman — a  bloodless  face  behind  the  death-cell 
grating — the  distant  steps  of  the  procession  already 
sounding  in  the  corridor. 

He  opened  the  gate  and  went  out  to  the  sidewalk 
where  a  young  girl,  unskillfully  painted,  stood  looking 
about  her  preliminary  to  opening  the  night's  cam- 
paign. 

"Hello,"  she  said  tentatively. 

"Ah,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "a  goddess  of  the  stars !" 

"Got  anything  on?"  she  asked,  approaching  with 
her  mirthless  smile. 

"Yes,  a  few  casual  garments." 

She  looked  him  over  with  the  uncanny  wisdom  of  her 

402 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


caste,  and,  young  as  she  was,  she  divined  in  this  man 
only  the  opportunity  to  waste  her  time. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked,  glancing  at  his 
shabby  dressing  gown.  "Up  against  it?" 

"What  I'm  up  against,"  he  said,  absently,  "will  look 
good  to  you,  too,  some  day." 

"What's  that?" 

"Death,  my  dear." 

"Quit  kiddin' !"  she  retorted,  with  an  uneasy  laugh. 
"You  got  your  looks  yet."  She  stepped  nearer,  look- 
ing at  him  curiously.  "Nothing  like  that,"  she  said. 
"You're  a  looker.  Buck  up,  old  scout!" 

She  was  leaning  against  the  railing  where  he  stood 
resting  his  back.  Presently  he  turned,  leisurely,  and 
surveyed  her. 

"You  are  young,"  he  said.  "You'll  be  a  tired  girl 
before  you're  up  against  what  I  am." 

"What  have  you  done?"  she  enquired  curiously. 

"Nothing." 

"Sure.     That's  why  we  all  go  up  the  river." 

"I'm  going  across  the  river,"  he  remarked,  smiling. 

"Which?" 

"The  Styx.    You  never  heard  of  it,  I  suppose." 

"One  of  them  dirty  rivers  in  Jersey?" 

He  nodded  gravely. 

"What's  out  there?"  she  enquired. 

"I  don't  know,  my  dear." 

"Then  what's  the  idea?" 

She  waited  for  an  answer,  but  his  golden  eyes  were 
dreamily  remote. 

The  girl  lingered.  Once  or  twice  professional  sense 
suggested  departure,  but  when  her  tired  eyes  of  a  child 
rested  on  him  something  held  her  inert. 

When  she  again  interrupted  his   revery  he  looked 

403 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


around  at  her  as  though  he  had  never  before  seen  her, 
and  she  repeated  what  she  had  said. 

"What?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"I  got  a  fiver  that  ain't  workin',"  she  said  again. 
"You  can  use  it  in  your  business  if  it's  any  good." 

"My  dear  child,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "you're  very 
kind,  but  that's  not  what  the  matter  is."  He  turned, 
dropped  his  arm  on  the  railing,  facing  her:  "What's 
your  name?" 

"Gloria  Cameron." 

"Come  on,"  he  said,  good-humouredly,  "what's  your 
other  name?" 

"Anne." 

"Anne,  what?" 

"O'Hara." 

"Will  you  wait  a  minute?" 

She  nodded  uncertainly. 

He  went  back  through  the  area,  entered  his  studio 
and  dressed  in  his  shabby  street  clothes. 

The  cheque  was  still  lying  on  a  small  table  where 
Cleland  had  placed  it  at  his  request.  And  now  he 
picked  it  up,  dipped  a  rusty  pen  into  an  ink-bottle,  and 
indorsed  the  cheque,  making  it  payable  to  Anne  O'Hara. 
Then  he  took  his  straw  hat  and  went  out. 

The  girl  was  waiting. 

"Anne,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  read  what's  written 
on  this  pretty  perforated  piece  of  paper."  He  held  it 
so  that  the  electric  light  fell  on  it. 

"Is  it  good?"  she  asked  in  an  awed  voice. 

"Perfectly."  He  turned  the  cheque  over  and  showed 
her  the  indorsement. 

She  found  her  voice  presently: 

"What  are  you  putting  over  on  me?" 

He  said: 

404 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"I'd  give  this  cheque  to  you  now,  but  it  wouldn't  be 
any  good  when  the  banks  open  to-morrow." 

She  stared  her  question,  and  he  laughed: 

"It's  a  law  concerning  cheques.  Never  mind.  But 
there's  a  way  to  beat  it.  I  had  a  lot  of  money  once. 
They'll  take  my  paper  at  Square  Jack  Hennesey's. 
Shall  we  stroll  up  that  way?" 

She  did  not  understand.  It  was  quite  evident  that 
she  had  no  faith  in  the  scrap  of  paper  either.  But  it 
was  still  more  evident  that  she  was  willing  to  remain 
with  him,  even  at  the  loss  of  professional  opportunities 
— even  though  she  was  facing  the  obloquy  of  being 
"kidded." 

"Come  into  my  studio  first,"  he  said. 

She  went  without  protest.  In  the  brightly  lighted 
basement  he  turned  and  scrutinized  her  coolly  from 
head  to  foot. 

"How  old?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

"Seventeen." 

"How  long  are  you  on  the  job?" 

"Two  years." 

"Whose  are  you?" 

"I'm  for  myself " 

"Come  on !    Don't  lie !" 

She  straightened  her  thin  finger  in  defiance: 

"What  are  you?    A  bull?" 

"You  know  I'm  not.  Who  are  you  working  for? 
Wait!  Never  mind!  You're  working  for  somebody, 
aren't  you?" 

"Y-yes." 

"Do  you  folks  know  it?" 

"No." 

"What  was  it — cloaks,  feathers,  department  store?" 

She  nodded. 

405 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"You  can  go  back?" 

She  remained  silent,  and  he  repeated  the  question. 
Then  the  girl  turned  white  under  her  paint. 

"Damn  you!"  she  said,  "what  are  you  trying  to  do 
to  me?" 

"Send  you  home,  Anne,  with  a  couple  of  thousand 
real  money.  Will  you  go?" 

"Show  it  to  me !"  she  said,  but  her  voice  had  become 
childish  and  tremulous  and  her  painted  mouth  was 
quivering. 

"I'm  going  to  show  it  to  you,"  he  said  pleasantly. 
"I'll  get  it  at  Square  Jack's  for  you.  If  I  do  will  you 
fly  the  coop?  I  mean  now,  to-night!  Will  you?" 

"W-with  you?" 

"Dear  child,  I've  got  to  cross  that  dirty  Jersey 
river.  I  told  you.  You  live  up  state,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"Hudson." 

"All  right.  Will  you  go  now,  just  as  you  are? 
You'd  stand  a  fat  chance  if  you  went  back  and  tried 
to  pack  up.  That  thing  would  batter  you  to  a  pulp, 
wouldn't  he?" 

She  nodded. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "Take  off  your  hat  and  wash 
your  face,  Anne.  They'd  be  on  to  you  at  home.  I've 
got  to  pack  a  few  things  for  my  journey  and  write  a 
couple  of  letters.  Get  all  the  paint  off  while  I'm  busy. 
There's  soap,  towels,  and  a  basin  behind  that  screen." 

She  came  slowly  to  to  him  and  stood  looking  at  him 
out  of  her  disenchanted  young  eyes. 

"Is  this  on  the  square?"  she  asked. 

"Won't  you  take  a  chance  that  it  is?"  he  asked,  tak- 
ing her  slim  hands  and  looking  her  in  the  eyes. 

406 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Yes.  .  .  .  I'll  take  a  chance  with  you — if  you  ask 
me  to." 

"I  do."  He  patted  her  hands  and  smiled,  then  re- 
leased them.  "Hustle!"  he  said.  "I'll  be  ready  very 
soon." 

He  wrote  first  to  Cleland: 

DEAR  CLELAND: 

I  think  I'll  go  up  tonight,  stay  at  Pittsfield,  and  either 
drive  across  the  mountain  in  the  morning  or  take  an  early 
train  through  the  tunnel  for  North  Adams.  Either  way 
ought  to  land  me  at  Runner's  Rest  station  about  eight  in  the 
morning. 

I  can't  tell  you  what  your  kindness  has  done  for  me.  I 
think  it  was  about  all  I  really  wanted  in  the  world — your 
friendship.  It  seems  to  clean  off  my  slate,  square  me  with 
life. 

I  shall  start  in  a  few  minutes.  Until  we  meet,  then,  your 
friend,  OSWALD  GRISMER. 

He  directed  the  envelope  to  Cleland's  studio  in  town. 
The  other  letter  he  directed  to  Stephanie  at  Run- 
ner's Rest  and  stamped  it. 
He  wrote  to  her: 

I'm  happier  than  I  have  been  in  years  because  I  can  do 
this  thing  for  you. 

And  now  I'm  going  to  admit  something  which  will  ease 
your  mind  immensely:  the  situation  was  so  impossible  that 
I  also  began  to  weary  of  it  a  little.  You  are  entitled  to 
the  truth. 

And  now  life  looks  very  inviting  to  me.  Liberty  is  the 
most  wonderful  thing  in  the  world.  And  I  am  restless  for  it, 
restless  to  begin  again. 

So  if  I  come  to  you  as  a  comrade,  don't  think  for  a 
moment  that  any  sympathy  is  due  me.  Alas,  man  belongs 
to  a  restless  sex,  Stephanie,  and  the  four  winds  are  less  irre- 
sponsible and  inconstant! 

As  a  comrade,  I  should  delight  in  you.    You  are  a  very 

407 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


wonderful  girl — but  you  belong  to  Cleland  and  not  to  me. 
Don't  worry.    I'm  absolutely  satisfied.    Until  we  meet,  then, 

Your  grateful  friend, 

OSWALD. 

"I'll  get  a  special  for  this  letter  on  our  way  uptown," 
he  said,  voicing  his  thoughts  aloud  to  the  girl  who  was 
scrubbing  her  painted  lips  and  cheeks  behind  the  screen. 

When  she  emerged,  pinning  on  her  hat,  he  had 
packed  a  suitcase  and  was  ready. 

They  found  a  taxi  in  Washington  Square. 

On  the  way  uptown  he  mailed  his  letter  to  Stephanie ; 
sent  a  district  messenger  with  his  letter  to  Cleland's 
studio ;  sent  a  night  letter  to  Runner's  Rest  saying  that 
he  would  take  accommodations  on  a  train  which  would 
be  due  at  Runner's  Rest  station  at  eight  next  morning ; 
stopped  at  the  darkened  and  barred  house  of  Square- 
Jack  Hennesey,  and  was  admitted  after  being  scrutin- 
ized through  a  sliding  grill. 

When  he  came  out  half  an  hour  later  he  told  the 
driver  to  go  to  the  Grand  Central  Station,  and  got  into 
the  cab. 

"Anne,"  he  said  gaily,  "here's  the  two  thousand. 
Count  it." 

The  sheafs  of  new  bills  pinned  to  their  paper  bands 
lay  in  her  lap  for  a  long  time  before  she  touched  them. 
Even  then  she  merely  lifted  one  packet  and  let  it  drop 
without  even  looking  at  it.  So  Grismer  folded  the  bills 
and  put  them  into  her  reticule.  Then  he  took  her  slim 
left  hand  in  both  of  his  and  held  it  while  they  rode  on 
in  silence  through  the  electric  glare  of  the  metropolis. 

At  the  station  he  dismissed  the  taxicab,  bought  a 
ticket  and  sleeping-car  accommodations  to  Hudson — 
managed  to  get  a  state-room  for  her  all  to  her- 
self. 

408 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"You  won't  sleep  much,"  he  remarked,  smiling, 
"so  we'll  have  to  provide  you  with  amusement, 
Anne." 

Carrying  his  suitcase,  the  girl  walking  beside  him,  he 
walked  across  the  great  rotunda  to  the  newsstand. 
There,  and  at  the  confectionery  counter  opposite,  he 
purchased  food  for  mind  and  body — light  food  suitable 
for  a  young  and  badly  bruised  mind,  and  for  a  soul  in 
embryo,  still  in  the  making. 

Then  he  went  over  to  another  window  and  bought  a 
ticket  for  himself  to  Pittsfield,  and  sleeping  accommo- 
dations. 

"We  travel  by  different  lines,  Anne,"  he  said,  open- 
ing his  portfolio  and  placing  his  own  tickets  in  it,  where 
several  letters  lay  addressed  to  him  at  his  basement 
studio.  Then  he  replaced  the  portfolio  in  his  breast 
pocket. 

"I'll  go  with  you  to  your  train,"  he  said,  declining 
with  a  shake  of  his  head  the  offices  of  a  red-capped 
porter.  "Your  train  leaves  at  12.10  and  we  have  only 
a  few  minutes." 

They  walked  together  through  the  gates,  the  officials 
permitting  him  to  accompany  her. 

The  train  stood  on  the  right — a  very  long  train,  and 
they  had  a  long  distance  to  walk  along  the  concrete 
platform  before  they  found  her  car. 

A  porter  showed  them  to  her  stateroom.  Grismer 
tipped  him  generously : 

"Be  very  attentive  to  this  young  lady,"  he  said,  "and 
see  that  she  has  every  service  required,  and  that  she  is 
notified  in  plenty  of  time  to  get  off  at  Hudson.  Now 
you  may  leave  us  until  we  ring." 

He  turned  from  the  corridor  and  entered  the  state- 
room, closing  the  door  behind  him.  The  girl  sat  on 

409 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


the  sofa,  very  pale,  with  a  dazed  expression  in  her 
eyes. 

He  seated  himself  beside  her  and  drew  her  hands  into 
his  own. 

"Let  me  tell  you  something,"  he  said  cheerfully. 
"Everybody  makes  mistakes.  You've  made  some;  so 
have  I;  so  has  everybody  I  ever  heard  of. 

"Everybody  gets  in  wrong  at  one  time  or  another. 
The  idea  is  to  get  out  again  and  make  a  fresh 
start.  .  .  .  Will  you  try?" 

She  nodded,  so  close  to  tears  that  she  could  not 
speak. 

"Promise  me  you'll  make  a  hard  fight  to  travel 
straight  ?" 

"Y-yes." 

"It  won't  be  easy.  But  try  to  win  out,  Anne.  Back 
there — in  those  streets  and  alleys — there's  nothing  to 
hope  for  except  death.  You'll  find  it  if  you  ever  go 
back — in  some  hospital,  in  some  saloon-brawl,  in  some 
rooming-house — it  will  surely,  surely  find  you  by  bullet, 
by  knife,  by  disease — sooner  or  later  it  will  find  you 
unless  you  start  to  search  for  it  yourself." 

He  patted  her  hand,  patted  her  pale  'cheek : 

"It's  a  losing  game,  Anne.  There's  nothing  in  it. 
I  guess  you  know  that  already.  So  go  back  to  your 
people  and  tell  them  the  last  lies  you  ever  tell.  And 
stick.  Stay  put,  little  girl.  You  really  are  all  right, 
you  know,  but  you  got  in  wrong.  Now,  you're  out!" 

He  laughed  and  stood  up.  She  lifted  her  head.  All 
her  colour  had  fled. 

"Don't  forget  me,"  she  whispered. 

"Not  as  long  as  I  live,  Anne." 

"May  I — I  write  to  you?" 

He  thought  a  minute,  then  with  a  smile : 

410 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


"Why  not?"  He  found  a  card  and  pencil,  wrote  his 
name  and  address,  and  laid  it  on  the  sofa.  "If  it  would 
do  any  good  to  think  of  me  when  you're  likely  to  get  in 
wrong,"  he  said,  "then  try  to  remember  that  I  was 
square  with  you.  And  be  so  to  me.  Will  you?" 

"I— will." 

That  was  all.  She  was  crying  and  her  eyes  were 
too  blind  with  tears  to  see  the  expression  of  his  face 
as  he  kissed  her. 

He  went  away  lightly,  swinging  his  suitcase,  and 
stood  on  the  very  end  of  the  cement  platform  looking 
out  across  a  wilderness  of  tracks  branching  out  into 
darkness,  set  with  red,  green,  and  blue  lamps. 

He  waited,  lighting  a  cigarette.  On  his  left  a  heavy 
electric  engine  rolled  into  the  station,  drawing  a  West- 
ern express  train.  The  lighted  windows  of  the  cars 
threw  a  running  yellow  illumination  over  his  motion- 
less figure  for  a  few  moments,  then  the  train  passed  into 
the  depths  of  the  station. 

And  now  her  train  began  to  move  very  slowly  out 
through  the  wilderness  of  yard  tracks.  Car  after  car 
passed  him,  gaining  momentum  all  the  while. 

When  the  last  car  sped  by  and  the  tail-lights  dwind- 
led into  perspective,  Grismer  had  finished  his  cigar- 
ette. 

Behind  him  lay  the  dusky,  lamp-lit  tunnel  of  the  sta- 
tion. Before  him,  through  ruddy  darkness,  countless 
jewelled  lamps  twinkled,  countless  receding  rails  glim- 
mered, leading  away  into  the  night. 

It  was  in  him  to  travel  that  way — the  way  of  the 
glimmering,  jewelled  lamps,  the  road  of  the  shining 
rails. 

But  first  he  shoved  his  suitcase,  with  his  foot,  over 
the  platform's  edge,  as  though  it  had  fallen  there  by  ac- 

411 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


cident.  .  .  .  And,  as  though  he  had  followed  to  re- 
cover it,  he  climbed  down  among  the  tracks. 

There  was  a  third  rail  running  parallel  to  the  twin 
rails.  It  was  roofed  with  wood.  Lying  flat,  there  in 
the  shimmering  dusk,  he  could  look  up  under  the  wooden 
guard  rail  and  see  it. 

Then,  resting  both  legs  across  the  steel  car-tracks, 
he  reached  out  and  took  the  guarded  third  rail  in  both 
hands. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  train  that  Cleland  took,  after  calling  Run- 
ner's Rest  on  the  telephone,  landed  him  at  the 
home  station  at  an  impossible  hour.  Stars  filled 
the  heavens  with  a  magnificent  lustre;  the  July  dark- 
ness was  superb  and  still  untouched  by  the  coming 
dawn. 

As  he  stepped  from  the  car  the  tumbling  roar  of  the 
river  filled  his  ears — that  and  the  high  pines'  sighing 
under  the  stars,  and  the  sweet-scented  night  wind  in  his 
face  greeted  and  met  him  as  he  set  foot  on  the  plat- 
form at  Runner's  Rest  station  and  looked  around  for 
the  conveyance  that  he  had  asked  Stephanie  to 
send. 

There  was  nobody  in  sight  except  the  baggage  agent. 
He  walked  toward  the  rear  of  the  station,  turned  the 
corner,  and  saw  Stephanie  standing  there  bareheaded 
in  the  starlight,  wrapped  in  a  red  cloak,  her  hair  in  two 
heavy  braids. 

"Steve!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  on  earth  did  you 
come — you  darling!" 

"Did  you  imagine  I  wouldn't?"  she  asked  unsteadily. 

"I  told  you  over  the  wire  to  send  Williams  with  a 
buckboard." 

"Everybody  was  in  bed  when  the  telephone  rang.  So 
I  concluded  to  sit  up  for  you,  and  when  the  time  came 
I  went  out  to  the  stable,  harnessed  up,  and  drove  over 
here." 

413 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


Her  hand  was  trembling  in  his  while  she  spoke,  but 
her  voice  was  under  control. 

They  turned  together  and  went  over  to  the  buck- 
board.  She  stepped  in;  he  strapped  his  suitcase  on 
behind,  then  followed  her  and  took  the  reins  from  her 
gloved  hands. 

They  were  very  quiet,  but  he  could  feel  her  tremble 
a  little  at  times,  when  their  shoulders  were  in  contact. 
The  tension  betrayed  itself  in  his  voice  at  moments,  too. 

"I  have  a  night  letter  from  Oswald,"  she  said.  "They 
telephoned  it  up  from  the  station.  He  is  coming  to- 
morrow morning." 

"That's  fine.     He's  a  splendid  fellow,  Steve." 

"I  have  always  known  it." 

"I  know  you  have.  I'm  terribly  sorry  that  I  did  not 
know  him  better." 

The  buckboard  turned  from  the  station  road  into  a 
fragrant  wood-road.  In  the  scented  dusk  little  night- 
moths  with  glistening  wings  drifted  through  the  rays 
of  the  wagon-lamp  like  snowflakes.  A  bird,  aroused 
from  slumber  in  the  thicket,  sang  a  few  sweet,  sleepy 
notes. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Stephanie,  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice. 

He  understood: 

"It  was  entirely  Oswald's  doing.  I  never  dreamed  of 
mentioning  it  to  him.  I  was  absolutely  square  to  him 
and  to  you,  Steve.  I  went  there  with  no  idea  that  he 
knew  I  was  in  love  with  you — or  that  you  cared  for 
me.  .  .  .  He  met  me  with  simple  cordiality.  We 
looked  at  his  beautiful  model  for  the  fountain.  I  don't 
think  I  betrayed  in  voice  or  look  or  manner  that  any- 
thing was  wrong  with  me.  .  .  .  Then,  with  a  very  vf  in- 
ning simplicity,  he  spoke  of  you,  of  himself.  .  .  . 
There  seemed  to  be  nothing  for  me  to  say;  he  knew 

414 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


that  I  was  in  love  with  you,  and  that  you  had  come  to 
care  for  me.  .  .  .  And  I  heard  a  man  speak  to  another 
man  as  only  a  gentleman  could  speak — a  real  man,  rare 
and  thoroughbred.  ...  It  cost  him  something  to  say 
to  me  what  he  said.  His  nerve  was  heart-breaking  to 
me  when  he  found  the  courage  to  tell  me  what  his  father 
had  done. 

"He  told  me  with  a  smile  that  his  pride  was  dead — 
that  he  had  cut  its  throat.  But  it  was  still  alive,  Steve 
— a  living,  quivering  thing.  And  I  saw  him  slay  it 
before  my  eyes — kill  it  there  between  his,  with  his 
steady,  pleasant  smile.  .  .  .  Well,  he  meant  me  to 
understand  him  and  what  he  had  done.  .  .  .  And 
I  understand.  .  .  .  And  I  understand  your  loy- 
alty, now.  And  the  dreadful  fear  which  kept  you 
silent.  .  .  .  But  there  is  no  need  to  be  afraid  any 
more." 

"Did  he  say  so?" 

"Yes.  He  told  me  to  tell  you.  He  said  you'd  believe 
him  because  he  had  never  lied  to  you." 

"I  do  believe  him,"  she  said.  "I  have  never  known 
him  to  lie  to  anybody." 

The  light  over  the  porch  at  Runner's  Rest  glimmered 
through  the  trees.  In  a  few  moments  they  were  at  the 
door. 

"I'll  stable  the  horse,"  he  said  briefly. 

She  was  in  the  library  when  he  returned  from  the 
barn. 

"The  dawn  is  just  breaking,"  she  said.  "It  is  won- 
derful out  of  doors.  Do  you  hear  the  birds?" 

"Do  you  want  to  go  to  bed,  Steve?" 

"No.    Do  you?" 

"Wait  for  me,  then." 

She  waited  while  he  went  to  his  room.     The  windows 

415 


were  open  and  the  fresh,  clean  air  of  dawn  carried  the 
perfume  of  wet  roses  into  the  house. 

The  wooded  eastern  hills  were  very  dark  against  the 
dawn;  silvery  mist  marked  the  river's  rushing  course; 
thickets  rang  with  bird  songs. 

She  walked  to  the  porch.  Under  its  silver-sheeted 
dew  the  lawn  looked  like  a  lake. 

Very  far  away  across  the  valley  a  train  was  rush- 
ing northward.  She  could  hear  the  faint  vibration, 
the  distant  whistle.  Then,  from  close  by,  the  clear, 
sweet  call  of  a  meadow-lark  mocked  the  unseen  loco- 
motive's warning  in  exquisite  parody. 

Cleland  came  down  presently,  freshened,  dressed  in 
flannels. 

"Steve,"  he  said,  "you've  only  a  nightgown  on  under 
that  cloak!" 

"It's  all  right.  I'm  going  to  get  soaked  anyway,  if 
we  walk  on  the  lawn." 

She  laughed,  drew  off  her  slippers,  flung  them  into 
the  room  behind  her,  then,  with  her  lovely  little  naked 
feet  she  stepped  ankle  deep  into  the  drenched  grass, 
turned,  tossed  one  corner  of  her  red  cloak  over  her 
shoulder,  and  looked  back  at  him. 

Over  the  soaking  lawn  they  wandered,  his  arm  encirc- 
ling her  slender  body,  her  hand  covering  his,  holding  it 
closer  at  her  waist. 

The  sky  over  the  eastern  hills  was  tinted  with  palest 
saffron  now;  birds  sang  everywhere.  Down  by  the 
river  cat-birds  alternately  mewed  like  sick  kittens  or 
warbled  like  thrushes ;  rose  grosbeaks  filled  the  dawn 
with  heavenly  arias,  golden  orioles  fluted  from  every 
elm,  song-sparrows  twittered  and  piped  their  cheery 
amateur  efforts,  and  there  came  the  creak  and  chirr  of 
purple  grackles  from  the  balsams  and  an  incessant, 

416 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


never-ending  rush   of  jolly  melody   from   the   robins. 

Over  the  tumbling  river,  through  the  hanging  cur- 
tains of  mist,  a  great  blue  heron,  looming  enormously 
in  the  vague  light,  flapped  by  in  stately  flight  and 
alighted  upon  a  bar  of  golden  sand. 

More  swiftly  now  came  the  transfiguration  of  the 
world,  shell-pink  and  gold  stained  the  sky ;  then  a  blaze 
of  dazzling  light  cut  the  wooded  crests  opposite  as 
the  thin  knife-rim  of  the  sun  glittered  above  the 
trees. 

All  the  world  rang  out  with  song  now ;  the  river  mists 
lifted  and  curled  and  floated  upward  in  silvery  shreds 
disclosing  golden  shoals  and  pebbled  rapids  all  criss- 
crossed with  the  rosy  lattice  of  the  sun. 

The  girl  at  his  side  leaned  her  cheek  against  his 
shoulder. 

"What  would  all  this  have  meant  without  you?"  she 
sighed.  "The  world  turned  very  dark  for  me  yester- 
day. And  it  was  the  blackest  night  I  ever  knew." 

"And  for  me,"  he  said ;  " — I  had  no  further  interest 
in  living." 

"Nor  I.  ...  I  wanted  to  die  last  night.  ...  I 
prayed  I  might.  ...  I  nearly  did  die — with  happi- 
ness— when  I  heard  your  voice  over  the  wire.  That  was 
all  that  mattered  in  the  world — your  voice  calling  me — 
out  of  the  depths — dearest — dearest " 

With  her  waist  closely  enlaced,  he  turned  and  looked 
deep  into  her  grey  eyes — clear,  sweet  eyes  tinged  with 
the  lilac-grey  of  iris  bloom. 

"The  world  is  just  beginning  for  us,"  he  said.  "This 
is  the  dawn  of  our  first  morning  on  earth." 

The  slender  girl  in  his  arms  lifted  her  face  toward 
his.  Both  her  hands  crept  up  around  his  neck.  The 
air  around  them  rang  with  the  storm  of  bird  music 

417 


bursting  from  every  thicket,  confusing,  almost  stun- 
ning their  ears  with  its  heavenly  tumult. 

But  within  the  house  there  was  another  clamour 
which  they  did  not  hear — the  reiterated  ringing  of  the 
telephone.  They  did  not  hear  it,  standing  there  in  the 
golden  glory  of  the  sunrise,  with  the  young  world  awak- 
ing all  around  them  and  the  birds'  ecstacy  overwhelm- 
ing every  sound  save  the  reckless  laughter  of  the 
river. 

But,  in  the  dim  house,  Helen  awoke  in  her  bed,  lis- 
tening. And  after  she  had  listened  a  while  she  sprang 
up,  slipped  out  into  the  dark  hall,  and  unhooked  the  re- 
ceiver from  the  hinge. 

And  after  she  had  heard  what  the  distant  voice  had 
to  say  she  wrote  it  down  on  the  pad  of  paper  hanging 
by  the  receiver — wrote  it,  shivering  there  in  the  dark- 
ened hall  : 


Oswald  Grismer,  on  his  way  last  night  to  visit  you  at 
Runner's  Rest,  was  killed  by  the  third  rail  in  the  Grand 
Central  Station.  He  was  identified  by  letters.  Harry  Belter 
was  notified,  and  has  taken  charge  of  the  body.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  it  was  entirely  accidental.  Mr.  Grismer's 
suit-case  evidently  fell  to  the  track,  and,  attempting  to 
recover  it,  he  came  into  contact  with  the  charged  rail  and 
was  killed  instantly. 

MARIE  CLIFF  BELTER. 

When  she  had  written  it  down,  she  went  to  Stepha- 
nie's room  and  found  it  empty. 

But  through  the  open  window  sunshine  streamed,  and 
presently  she  saw  the  red-cloaked  figure  down  by  the 
river's  edge;  heard  the  girl's  sweet  laughter  float  out 
among  the  willows — enchanting,  gay,  care-free  laugh- 
ter, where  she  had  waded  out  into  the  shallow  rapids 

418 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


and  now  stood  knee-deep,  challenging  her  lover  to  fol- 
low her  if  he  dared. 

Then  Helen  saw  his  white-flannelled  figure  wading 
boldly  out  through  the  water  in  pursuit ;  saw  the  slim, 
red-cloaked  girl  turn  to  flee ;  went  closer  to  the  window 
and  stood  with  the  written  message  in  her  hand,  watch- 
ing the  distant  scene  through  eyes  dimmed  with  those 
illogical  tears  which  women  shed  when  there  is  nothing 
else  in  the  world  to  do. 

It  was  plain  that  they  thought  themselves  all  alone 
in  the  world,  with  the  sunrise  and  the  blue  mountains  as 
an  agreeable  setting,  created  as  a  background  for  them 
alone. 

Twice  the  girl  narrowly  escaped  capture ;  above  the 
rush  of  the  river  their  gales  of  laughter  came  back  on 
the  summer  wind.  Suddenly  she  slipped,  fell  with  a  cry 
into  a  deeper  pool,  and  was  caught  up  by  him  and  car- 
ried shoreward,  with  her  white  arms  around  his  neck 
and  her  lips  resting  on  his. 

And  as  the  tall  young  lover,  dripping  from  head  to 
foot,  came  striding  across  the  lawn  with  all  he  loved  on 
earth  laughing  up  at  him  in  his  arms,  the  girl  at  the 
window  turned  away  and  went  into  her  own  room  with 
the  written  message  in  her  hand. 

And  there,  seated  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  she  read  it 
over  and  over,  crying,  uncertain,  wondering  whether 
she  might  not  withhold  it  for  a  few  hours  more. 

Because  life  is  very  wonderful,  and  youth  more  won- 
derful still.  And  there  is  always  time  to  talk  of  life 
and  death  when  daylight  dies  and  the  last  laugh  is 
spent — when  shadows  fall,  and  blossoms  close,  and  birds 
grow  silent  among  the  branches. 

She  did  not  know  why  she  was  crying.  She  had  not 
cared  for  the  dead  man. 

419 


THE  RESTLESS  SEX 


She  looked  out  through  drawn  blinds  at  the  sunshine, 
not  knowing  why  she  wept,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 

Then,  from  the  hall  came  Stephanie's  ecstatic  voice: 

"Helen!  Wake  up,  darling,  and  come  down!  Be- 
cause Jim  and  I  have  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  the 
world  to  tell  you !" 

But  on  the  paper  in  her  lap  was  written  something 
more  wonderful  still.  For  there  is  nothing  more  won- 
derful than  that  beginning  of  everything  which  is  called 
the  end, 

4) 


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Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

After  House,  The.     By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart, 

Ailsa  Paige.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Alton  of  Somasco.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

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Balmer. 

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Brown  Stucly,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
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Cape  Cod  Stories.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

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Cap'n  Eri.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

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Cap'n  Warren's  Wards.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

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Cleek,  The  Man  of  Forty  Faces.     By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 

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Clue,  The.     By  Carolyn  Wells. 

Clutch  of  Circumstance,  The.     By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 

Coast  of  Adventure,  The.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Coming  of  Cassidy,  The.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Coming  of  the  Law,  The.    By  Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 

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Conspirators,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Court  of  Inquiry,  A.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

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Crimson  Gardenia,  The,  and  Other  Tales  of  Adventure.    By 

Rex  Beach. 

Cross  Currents.    By  Author  of  "Pollyanna." 
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Danger,  And  Other  Stories.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Dark  Hollow,  The,     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Dark  Star,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Daughter  Pays,  The.     By  Mrs.  Baillie  Reynolds. 
Day  of  Days,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
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Empty  Pockets.     By  Rupert  Hughes. 

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Eye  of  Dread,  The.    By  Payne  Erskine. 

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Financier,  The.     By  Theodore  Dreiser. 
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Kent  Knowles:  Ouahaup.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Kingdom  of  the  Blind,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 


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